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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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i UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 

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AT THE 


SIGN OF THE BLUE BOAR, 


A STORY 


OF THE 


REIGN OF CHARLES IL 



EMMA LESLIE, 

M 


Author of “ Out of the Mouth of the Lion,” “ Before the 
Dawn,” ” Saxby,” etc. 



JVBW YORK: • 
PHILLIPS & HUNT. 
CTNCINNA TI: 

CRANSTON STOWE. 
1885. 










•• ‘ •>• * 







Copyright 1885, by 
PHILLIPS & HUNT 


New York 


CONTENTS. 



Chapter Page 

I. An Accident in Church 5 

II. At Whitehall 19 

III. A Bitter Disappointment 34 

IV. Mary Maitland 49 

V. Launcelot’s Appointment 64 

VI. Work 79 

VII. Mary’s Home 94 

VIII. Bursting the Fetters IC9 

IX. Father and Daughter 123 

X. Black Bartholomew’s Day 138 

XI. A Shock for Mary 152 

XII. Confidences 164 

XIII. Hopes and Fears 178 

XIV. The Victory of the Vanquished 191 

XV. Rosalind 204 

XVI. The Plague 217 

XVII. Perplexities 231 

XVIII. How THE Plague was taken to Eyam 245 

XIX. A Strange Meeting 258 

XX. The Five-mile Act 271 

XXI. A Woeful Sunday 284 

XXII. Conclusion 297 




















AT THE SIGN 


OF 

THE BLUE BOAR. 


CHAPTER I. 

AN ACCIDENT IN CHURCH. 

TT was a sweet, soft, Sunday morning, early 
^ in the spring of 1662, when our story 
begins, “ The hush of God's own Sabbath " 
seemed to have descended upon London, and, 
like the morning mist, wrapped it round in a 
mantle of peace. Here in Fleet Street, where 
'prentices clamored and worried passengers all 
the week, there was rest and quiet at last, for 
as yet King Charles himself made some show 
of decency in regard to the observance of this 
day; and so there were no roystering courtiers 
swaggering through the streets, disturbing 
peaceful citizens ; and the citizens themselves 
were for the most part in church, for in 
those days London merchants lived over their 
shops, and city churches were well filled. 


6 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

St. Dunstan's here, near Temple Bar, was 
crowded to standing room ; for it had been 
announced the previous Sunday, that Dr. 
Bates’s pulpit would be occupied by the king’s 
chaplain, Mr. Baxter, of Kiddernfinster, whose 
fame as a preacher was so well known in Lon- 
don that crowds followed him wherever he 
went. The doors of St. Dunstan’s had been 
shut before the time for service to begin, and 
many had gone away disappointed ; but 
before the time for closing came they were 
flung wide open, and a frightened, terror- 
stricken crowd poured into the street, breaking 
the stillness with screams and groans and 
exclamations of horror. A few staggered and 
fell as they reached the roadway, but no one 
seemed hurt beyond the fright, and no one 
could tell exactly what had happened, except 
that there had been cries that the church was 
falling. When the tumult of the first rush 
was over, and people had time to recover a 
little from their panic, those who had rushed 
out first began to creep back and look up at 
the old church walls. 

“ I don’t believe they’re falling,” said one. 

Falling ! no ; if they were like to fall, they 
would have come down in the great storm we 
had a little while ago. I shall go back,” con* 


An Accident in Church. 7 

eluded the speaker, seeing that the thin stream 
of people now leaving the church paused on 
the threshold, and looked back regretfully at 
their vacated seats. 

“ Mr. Baxter has never left the pulpit,’' said 
one. 

“ No; he has just said he will go on with 
his sermon when the church is quiet again,’' 
remarked another, pausing undecidedly near 
the door. 

This was sufficient to decide other waver- 
ers. 

“ It’s only half past nine,” said one, and 
the sermon not half over; I shall go back.” 
And the people began to press toward the 
doors again ; but as they would have passed 
in, they were pushed back by a little knot of 
people, who were carrying a young girl, to all 
appearance dead. Of course, the panic spread 
again among those who had begun to turn 
back, and a cry was raised that the back of 
the church had fallen in ; but a gentleman 
walking near those who carried the girl 
instantly quelled it. 

See now, good people, this accident is 
occasioned by your senseless fright, and not 
by the falling of the church wall. The rat- 
tling down of a little loose mortar, that would 


8 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

scarce injure a mouse, hath so robbed ye of 
your wit, that this poor girl, besides several 
others, have thrown themselves from the gal- 
lery, down among the people in the church.*’ 

“ Is she dead ? ’* asked one, looking at the 
white, drawn face lying on the shoulder of the 
young man carrying her. He was her brother, 
and by his side walked another sister, almost 
overcome with grief and dismay. 

Now, who will fetch me a carriage? ” said 
the gentleman who had previously spoken ; 
then, turning to the young man, he said : '' Can 
you carry her to the Temple Stairs, think 
you ? It will shake her less to go by water, 
and you live near Paul’s Wharf, you say ? ” 

“ Yes, at the sign of the Blue Boar,*, said the 
young man, mechanically, for all his attention 
was given to watching the death-like face of 
his sister. This will be our mother*s death- 
blow,” he said, speaking to the one who 
walked by his side. 

“ Nay, nay ; she hath but swooned, I trow,** 
said the elder gentleman. I will get a 
waterman to carry you to PauPs, and will 
speedily follow with a chirurgeon. Send the 
carriage to Temple Stairs for me,*’ he said, 
addressing the crowd, who still lingered out- 
side the church. 


An Accident in ChurcJi 9 

Many had gone in again, and Mr. Baxter 
had resumed his sermon ; for the most seri- 
ously injured of those who had thrown them- 
selves from the gallery was the young girl now 
being carried home. A boat was soon obtained 
at Temple Stairs; and as the boatman pushed 
off, a carriage came in sight, into which the 
gentleman leaped, and told the man to drive 
to the house of a well-known doctor, whom he 
fortunately found at home, and quite willing 
to accompany him to the sign of the Blue 
Boar. 

In those days signs were not monopolized 
by inns and taverns. Nearly every shop had 
its sign ; so it was no easy matter to find out 
the particular Blue Boar wanted, amid the 
labyrinth of narrow streets and alleys that led 
down to the water-side in the neighborhood of 
Paul s Wharf. The Blue Boar seemed to be a 
favorite sign, too, among the dwellers of this 
water-side neighborhood ; and after several 
stoppages had been made at wrong places, the 
gentleman at length paid the coachman and 
dismissed the carriage, for the doctor had 
suggested that they could pursue their in- 
quiries better on foot. After the carriage 
had gone, they made their way to the landing- 
stairs, where, as they had hoped, they found a 


lo At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 


boy who had seen the poor girl carried ashore 
and watched where she was taken. It was 
only a few yards off — a shop where ropes and 
ship cordage were sold ; and they had to pick 
their way carefully between the coils of rope 
and heaps of general litter that filled every 
corner of the small shop. 

They were evidently expected, for they had 
scarcely knocked before the door was opened 
by the young man who had carried his sister 
home. He led the way up a narrow, dark 
staircase ; but the room above was large, and 
looked out upon the river. Here they were 
met by an elderly lady, whom the young man, 
with a courtly grace, introduced as “ Mrs. 
Aylmer, my mother.” 

‘‘ My name is Coventry,” said the gentle- 
man, bowing ; for he felt instinctively that he 
was in the presence of gentle, refined people, 
despite the poverty of their surroundings. '' I 
have brought a chirurgeon to see your daugh- 
ter, madam,” he said. 

‘‘ Will you come this way ? We have laid her 
on the bed,” said the lady, entering a small 
room, at the door of which she had been 
standing. 

The doctor closed the door, and Mr. Coven- 
try had time to look round the sitting-room. 


An Accident in Church, 


1 1 

and notice more particularly the attire of 
young Aylmer, which he saw had once been 
rich and handsome, but was shabby and 
threadbare now, and evidently had not been 
made for its present wearer. The furniture of 
the room, too, was an odd mixture of faded 
splendor and sordid poverty. The young 
man seemed greatly embarrassed at the pres- 
ence of a stranger, and, as if in explanation 
of the peculiar surroundings, said : ‘‘ We have 
not been in England long.'* 

“But you are English?” said Mr. Coven- 
try. 

“O yes,” said the young man, quickly; 
but we had to leave the country after — after 
the death of our late king.” 

“ I see. You are Royalists, and have come 
back to claim your own.” 

The penetration of his visitor seemed to put 
the young man at his ease at once. 

“Yes; Aylmer Court will soon be in the 
hands of its rightful owners again,” he said ; 
“ and then, sir, you will find the Aylmers are 
not ungrateful. For the present, until the 
king can settle this business, I am afraid — O, 
this accident is most unfortunate!” he sud- 
denly broke off; “ for I know not how we 
shall pay the chirurgeon.” 


12 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

''Nay, nay; that is my affair, not yours,” 
said Mr. Coventry ; " and if you must talk of 
payment, at least postpone it until the king 
has settled this business for you.” 

" Thank you for your consideration. I will 
try again to see the king to-morrow. If I could 
but see him.” added young Aylmer, '‘we 
should not remain here another hour: for he 
knows my father gave up home and lands, and 
life itself, to serve his father and himself, and 
he will be sorely vexed when he knows of our 
poor estate here.” 

'‘How long have you been here?” asked 
his visitor. 

" Only a few weeks. We were to have come 
over immediately after the king ; but my father 
was taken ill at that time, and died in Flan- 
ders, and none of the letters he wrote during 
his illness ever reached the king’s hand.” 

" Was he ill long ? ” asked Mr. Coventry. 

"More than a year; and we were in sore 
straits then, for the last of my mother’s jewels 
were given for the king’s service before he 
came to England.” 

" And you have received nothing in re- 
turn ? ” 

But young Aylmer’s Royalist sympathies 
were aroused at the question, or the tone of 


An Accident in Church. 13 

it, and he said, quickly : ‘‘ How could we, since 
the king knows not of our poor estate? As 
I say, it will be but to ask and have, when I 
can see the king/* 

Mr. Coventry would not say a word to dis- 
turb this confident faith in the king’s sense of 
justice and honor ; but he resolved not to lose 
sight of the family, for he strongly surmised 
they would be glad to receive other help than 
the king’s before long ; for, whatever their 
right might be, Aylmer Court had doubtless 
been disposed of long ago, if it had not been 
seized by the kings brother, the Duke of 
York, in which case their chances of regain- 
ing it were equally remote. 

He was relieved from the awkward silence 
that followed by the entrance of the doctor 
from the inner room. 

Young Aylmer jumped up instantly to meet 
him. 

“ What do you think of my sister ? ” he 
said, eagerly. 

“ She lives, and that is all I can say at pres- 
ent,” said the doctor, gravely. I will see her 
again in a few hours, and bring another chirur- 
geon with me — one who is skilled in cases of 
accident.” 

Thank you ; let no expense be spared ; 


14 ’ At THE Sign of the Blue Boar. 

Mr. Coventry will explain. You will under-, 
stand that we can pay for all my sister needs,” 
said young Aylmer, in a dignified tone. 

But Mrs. Aylmer looked up in surprise. 
“ My dear Launcelot, have you received news 
from Whitehall?” she asked. 

“ Not yet, mother ; but I am going to the 
king to-morrow : this accident will brook no 
delay. Bessie must be moved to Aylmer 
Court as speedily as possible.” 

The doctor and Mr. Coventry exchanged 
glances. 

‘‘ Your sister must remain here for the pres- 
ent,” said the chirurgeon, taking up his hat. 
‘‘ I could not sanction her removal for some 
weeks, at least ; but I will, take care that she 
has every attention that her case demands ; 
and she could scarce be better placed, for you 
have a fine view of the river,” he added, wav- 
ing his hat toward the window. 

“ That will enable them to rest content for 
a few weeks, where, if I mistake not, they will 
have to live many years,” said the doctor to 
his companion, when they had gained the 
street. “ You heard what I said about the 
outlook from their window ? Depend upon it 
they will have no other, if it rests with King 
Charles and his sense of justice.” 


An Accident in Church. 


15 


“ Don’t let them hear you say so. I like 
that young Aylmer. I hope he wont waste 
the best years of his life waiting for what may 
never come. But what do you think of the 
girl — will she live ? ” 

“ I’m afraid she will,” said the doctor, se- 
riously. 

Afraid she will ! ” repeated his companion. 
“ But if she lives — ” 

“ ’Twill be little better than death in life, I 
fear. I’m afraid her spine is so seriously in- 
jured that she will never walk again.” 

“ Dear heart, to think that people’s sense- 
less folly should cause such mischief as that ! ” 
exclaimed Mr. Coventry. ‘‘ Why, ’twas but 
the falling of a little loose mortar, and some 
senseless wight exclaimed, ^ The walls are 
falling ! ’ and every body seemed bereft of 
their senses in a minute. Mr. Baxter stood 
still in the pulpit, and tried to assure them 
there was no danger ; but this girl and some 
others flung themselves headlong over the gal- 
lery.” 

‘‘ And she must have fallen on her back 
across the edge of a pew. I hope I may be 
wrong, but I’ll take Burton down to see her 
by and by, and hear his opinion.” 

The kind-hearted doctor was as good as his 


i6 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 


word, and, before night-fall, took his friend to 
the Blue Boar to see the injured girl. 

She had regained consciousness, but had no 
power to move her lower limbs, and the doc- 
tors impressed upon her the necessity of keep- 
ing perfecily quiet, and not trying to move at 
present. They examined her carefully, but 
she seemed to have received no other injury 
but this to her back, which they feared would 
prove quite incurable. 

It would not do to tell her so at once, how- 
ever, and the doctor told Mrs. Aylmer how to 
prepare some herb tea, and gave her some 
medicine he had brought with him. But he 
took care to close the little bedroom door as 
he came into the sitting-room, and, beckoning 
young Aylmer to the lowbow-windowoverlook- 
ing the river, he said : “ You are going to try and 
gain an audience of King Charles to-morrow ?** 

The young man blushed and glanced at his 
shabby dress, for his mother had been impress- 
ing upon him the impossibility of his going to 
court until his wardrobe could' be suitably re- 
plenished. 

I — I did think of doing so,” he said, in 
some confusion. 

Then do it by all means, if possible; for I 
think it best to tell you, although you must 


A 7 t Accident in CImrch, 17 

for the present keep this a secret from your 
mother and sisters, but I greatly fear your 
sister’s spine is hopelessly injured.” 

You mean, if we were rich she might — ” 

‘‘ I mean,” said the doctor, calmly, that if 
she were the infanta herself all the doctors in 
Europe could do nothing that would cure her. 
Mind, she must not knovv this yet : the knowl- 
edge will come to her gradually as time goes on ; 
and meanwhile I will come and see that her 
general health does not fail. But after what 
I heard from Mr. Coventry this morning I 
thought it my duty to tell you at once, for an 
invalid requires many little comforts those in 
health can dispense with. In short, Mr. Ayl- 
mer, it will not do to wait much longer for 
the king to right you. Put it to the test at 
once, and if the king cannot help you to your 
own again, then let other friends do what they 
can for you.” 

The young man’s face flushed at the im- 
plied doubt of his majesty’s willingness to see 
that justice was done to his old friends. 

“ It is but the question of a doublet, I 
know,” he said ; and his majesty could not 
always go in such brave attire as he now has. 
I will prepare a letter to-night to present to 
his majesty myself to-morrow. I will trust it 
2 


i8 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 


to no other hand, for I feel certain we have an 
enemy about the court who has taken care 
that our letters should never be seen by the 
king. I would that I knew who it was, for it 
embittered my father’s last days, and, doubt- 
less, shortened his life.” 

‘‘ Well, well, take the letter yourself to- 
morrow, and may you succeed ; but if you do 
not, then you must let other friends help 
you.” 

But we have no other friends at present,” 
said the young man. No one who knew us 
at Aylmer Court has heard of our return to 
England — how could we let them know we 
were living in such a place as this ?” And he 
glanced round at the faded serge hangings on 
the wall and the poverty-stricken furniture of 
the room. 

‘‘ You have more friends, perhaps, than you 
wot of,” said the doctor, pleasantly ; and, tak- 
ing up his hat, he joined his friend, who was 
waiting for him near the door, and the two 
doctors took their departure. 


At Whitehall. 


19 


CHAPTER IT 

AT WHITEHALL. 

J^UNCELOT AYLMER sat up nearly all 
night writing a letter to the king, which 
he determined to carry himself to the palace 
next day, and place in the king’s hand, feel- 
ing sure that all his other missives had mis- 
carried. 

He left home soon after daylight, hut, early 
as it was, he found the neighborhood of White- 
hall astir with gayly-dressed ladies and gentle- 
men, among whom he felt more shabby than 
ever ; and it was plain that others thought 
the same, for when he ventured to approach 
the palace gates he was ordered away by the 
guard, who threatened to arrest him if he 
came near again. He had foreseen some such 
difficulty as this, and knew that his only 
chance of getting the letter into the king’s 
hands would be to present it when he was 
passing from the palace to his coach or barge, 
which always lay in readiness at the water-gate 
close by ; and he thought, by mingling with 


20 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 


the crowd, he should hear what the king's 
movements were likely to be. 

To his great surprise he presently met the 
gentlemen who had brought the doctor to see 
his sister the day before, not in a plain black 
velvet doublet, such as he then wore, but in a 
dress that proclaimed him to be an officer of 
state in the Admiralty. He recognized Launce- 
lot in a moment, and, taking his hand, drew 
him aside from the crowd. 

‘ I am glad to see you here,” he said. 

You have brought a letter for the king. I 
suppose ? ” 

“ Yes; and I wish to present it to his maj- 
esty myself,” said Launcelot. “ I shall then 
know beyond a doubt that it is not kept 
from him by any unknown enemy.” 

‘‘ Well, I think I can help you to do so. 
The king is going by water to the Tower pres- 
ently, and I will speak to the guard at the 
water-gate to let you present your letter as 
the king descends the steps. You have chosen 
a fortunate time to present it, for I have just 
heard that Parliament has agreed to allow him 
twelve hundred thousand pounds a year ; and 
many petitions are now being considered by 
Parliament for the restoration of the estates 
of the king’s friends.” 


At White hall. 


21 


“ A hundred thousand pounds a month,” 
repeated Launcelot ; ‘‘ what will he do with 
it 

‘‘ Spend it, you may be sure,” said Mr. 
Coventry, with a smile. 

‘‘ Yes, yes, to be sure. He has many friends, 
I know, besides ourselves, who gave up all 
they could for him while he was abroad ; and, 
I doubt not, he is anxious to repay them, at 
least, if he can do no more. And ought to 
present a petition to Parliament, you think, 
sir, about our restoration to Aylmer Court ? ” 

“ Wait now till you hear from the king. 
The Parliament is anxious to please his maj- 
esty in all things, and if he — ” 

“ I see, I see, sir,” said Launcelot, quickly. 
“ If the king recommends it, the thing will be 
done. This is what I have asked in my letter 
— that we may receive our own again. I knew 
not that his majesty had so much money at 
command, or I might have reminded him that 
our mothers jewels, our last possession, were 
sold to the Amsterdam merchants to supply 
his need : but, doubtless, he will remember 
this, and send for me to court at once.” 

‘‘ Perhaps he may,” said Mr. Coventry. If 
he should, you will need a suitable dress, and 
you may go to my tailor, and tell him to sup- 


22 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

ply you with a velvet doublet and shoulder- 
knots, silken hose and buckled shoes, and all 
things necessary for a gentleman to appear at 
court ; and Mr. William Coventry will be an- 
swerable for all charges.*’ 

“ Thank you, sir, a thousand times ; but I 
shall be able to pay all charges an the king 
only gets my letter,” said Launcelot, who felt 
assured their troubles were at an end, now 
that the way had been cleared for him to pre- 
sent his letter to the king in person. 

Mr. Coventry gave him his tailor’s name 
and address in Fleet Street, and spoke to the 
guard at the water-gate, and then left Laun- 
celot to his own reflections. 

Pleasant as these were, however, they were 
not without alloy; for as he thought how soon 
they would all be going back to Aylmer 
Court, the vision of his father dying in that 
miserable home in Flanders, wanting almost 
the necessaries of life, made his thoughts 
grow very bitter against his unknown enemy, 
whoever he might be. A little timely help 
when the king first came over to England 
would have saved his father’s life, he felt sure; 
and so he who withheld his letters from the 
king was no less than a murderer, he argued. 
He paid but little attention to tlie gossip 


At Whitehall. 


23 


going on around him, although, as the crowd 
increased, he could not help hearing opinions 
exchanged about the Act of Uniformity, which 
was now being debated in Parliament, and the 
reform of the Prayer Book, which was occu- 
pying the attention of Convocation. These 
things mattered little to Launcelot, although 
to some of the speakers in the crowd they 
seemed to b.e of vital importance. 

'Tis whispered that the king’s chaplain, 
Mr. Baxter, will not accept the new Prayer 
Book, and will not preach again until after 
St. Bartholomew’s Day, that other parsons 
may know what he is going to do.” 

“ And think you many will follow his ex- 
ample?” asked another. 

Nay, I know not; but ’twill be a sorry day 
for England an they do. ’ Pis whispered that 
all who have been ordained by the late pres- 
bytery, instead of by a bishop, will have to 
seek fresh ordination, as well as accept the 
new Prayer Book.” 

^‘Hey, man, but will they do that — will they 
avow and declare that they were not compe- 
tent to baptize and marry, all the years they 
have been doing it?” 

The question was asked very anxiously, and 
presently the speaker added : ‘T have two little 


24 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

ones lying in All-Hallows church-yard, that 
were baptized by Dr. Bates, of St. Dunstan’s; 
but if he needs must be re-ordained, are my 
little ones verily and truly baptized, or are 
they — ” 

But at this moment there was a movement 
in the crowd, and Launcelot found himself in 
danger of bein g hustled to the back ; so he 
pushed his way nearer the guard again, and so 
lost the conclusion the anxious father had ar- 
rived at, should Dr. Bates decide to conform 
to the new Act, and seek re-ordination. 

Presently the crowd near the palace gates 
raised a shout, which was speedily taken up 
all along the line, and “The king! the king!” 
passed from lip to lip, and every body pressed 
forward to catch a glimpse of his majesty and 
the ladies and gentlemen of his court. Laun- 
celot held his letter with trembling fingers, as 
he gazed at Charles in his splendid suit of 
ruby velvet and white satin, slashed with sil- 
ver lace. 

“Now!” whispered the guard in his ear; 
and, stepping forward, Launcelot fell on one 
knee before the king, and humbly presented 
his missive. 

“Who have we here? ” asked Charles, paus- 
ing for an instant at the top of the steps. 


At WhitchalL 25 

“ Your majesty hath, doubtless, forgotten 
us — I am Launcelot Aylmer.’’ 

A frown contracted the king’s brow for an 
instant, and he looked as though he was about 
to return the letter ; but after a moment’s 
hesitation he thrust it into his pocket and 
passed on, without deigning to cast another 
look at Launcelot, kneeling at the side of the 
pathway. The ladies following immediately 
behind the king looked at him curiously as 
they passed, for Launcelot felt so overcome at 
the king’s strange reception of his letter that 
he could not rise for a minute or two, and the 
splendid procession had well-nigh passed be- 
fore he could turn and mingle with the crowd 
again. 

‘‘ Some one has poisoned the king’s mind 
against us, I am certain,” said Launcelot, bit- 
terly, as he slowly turned his steps toward the 
Strand; and as he walked along this fashion- 
able thoroughfare, where most of the nobility 
lived, he mused over this, wondering who, 
among the few people they had known in Flan- 
ders, could have slandered them to his majesty. 

‘‘ Could it be that wretch Oaklands ? I 
always suspected him of being a Roundhead 
in disguise — a spy sent by the caitiff Cromwell 
to watch the king and his friends. He took 


26 At the Sign of the Ble^e Boar. 

Rosalind away from us, I know — poor Cousin 
Rosalind ! She believed him to be a saint, 
but I fear she has had a terrible awakening 
from her delusion ere this. I wonder where 
she is now ! I would that I had the wretch 
Oaklands here ; I would wring the secret from 
him, and then grasp him by the throat until 
he fell dead at my feet ! and Launcelot 
ground his teeth in the bitterness of his impo- 
tent rage. 

The sight of the tailor’s shop where Mr. 
Coventry had told him to order his court 
dress, and the importunities of the noisy ap- 
prentices plying their master’s trade, put an 
end to these thoughts. 

Buy a doublet, sir, or a fine lawn shirt, a 
hat with the richest feathers in London town?” 
asked one saucy urchin, while at the same time 
he made signs and grimaces to his fellow-ap- 
prentices to look at Launcelot’s threadbare, 
shabby appearance. When he had run through 
the list of articles sold by his master, the ap- 
prentice from the next booth fastened himself 
upon his prey. '‘Buy a horologue, sir? You’ll 
want to know the time when you go to court.” 
The idea of Launcelot going to court seemed 
to be considered a good joke, and a burst of 
laughter followed from the other apprentices. 


At Whitehall. 


27 


Launcelot felt annoyed, but knew that it was 
useless to complain, and he would have to put 
up with the same annoyance until he reached 
home now, for he had passed Temple Bar, and 
this was the usual behavior of city 'prentices. 

But he was unexpectedly relieved from the 
vexation of being told that he looked like a 
very shabby, broken-down gentleman, for there 
was a sudden far-off cry of Clubs ! clubs ! ” 
proclaiming that a fight was in progress ; and 
the cry was instantly taken up and re-echoed 
down the street, while every 'prentice lad 
darted into the shop he was in charge of, and 
seized a stick that lay handy, and rushed off 
in the direction whence the cry of Clubs!" 
was heard. Masters came grumbling to their 
doors, but they might grumble; not a lad 
could be induced to stay at his post when that 
cry was raised, and they were flying up Fleet 
Street now, flourishing their sticks, and crying 

Clubs ! clubs ! " to Launcelot's great relief, 
for he might hope to escape any further re- 
minder of his uncomfortable position. 

It would be at an end soon now, he hoped ; 
but even as he thought of this came the chill- 
ing recollection of the king's frown when he 
heard his name, and his instant change of be- 
havior, so different from his pleasant affability; 


28 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

and Launcelot wondered whether he ought to 
tell his mother of this, or whether he should 
simply tell her he had succeeded in placing his 
letter in the king’s hand, and allow her to hope 
for the best, as he should do, if he had not 
seen the ominous change in the king’s coun- 
tenance. 

But before he reached home he was again 
painfully reminded of his poverty, by seeing 
the stalls set out with smoking ribs of beef and 
fresh salads, and men in clean white aprons, 
crying, “ Hot boiled beef!” “ Hot sheep’s feet!” 
“ Hot calves’ liver ! ” It made Launcelot feel 
more hungry to see and smell these appetizing 
dainties — not that he would have stopped and 
eaten them here, even if he had had a pock- 
etful of gold pieces; but it reminded him 
painfully of the meager fare they had at home, 
and made him wish he could take some little^ 
dainty with him for Bessie, and for her sake 
he wished he could feel more assured as to 
their future good fortune. 

When he reached home, and saw the coarse 
breakfast of rye bread and ale set out on a fine 
damask table-cloth, with silver-rimmed drink- 
ing-horns, and his mother sitting at work darn- 
ing a fine lawn shirt, the contrast seemed so 
painful, that it was with difficulty he main- 


At WhiiehalL 


29 


tained his composure. He tried to greet her 
\vdth a cheerful smile, but the eager, watchful 
mother saw the effort it cost him, and the tears 
slowly welled into her eyes, as she said : ‘‘You 
have failed again, iny son ? 

“ Nay, not so, my mother,” said Launcelot, 
trying to throw off his gloomy thoughts. “ By 
the kindness of Mr. Coventry, who brought 
the doctor to Bessie on Sunday, I was able to 
place my letter in the king s hand.” 

“You gave it to him yourself? O, Launcelot, 
I am thankful!” exclaimed Mrs. Aylmer, smil- 
ing through her tears. 

But his sister Audrey, who had just entered 
the room, was impatient for details. “ How 
did the king look? What did he say? Did he 
ask after me and Bessie? Did you tell him 
I had learned to play the lute he brought 
me? ” 

“ My dear, you forget he has other things 
to think about than girls and their lutes. He 
is really and actually the King of England 
now, you know.” 

“ So he was before, mother.” replied Au- 
drey. “ You and my father always said so, 
and taught us to pray for King Charles the 
Second, banished by wicked men from his 
home and realm.” 


30 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

Yes ; but he had no cares of state then, as 
he now has,” said her mother. 

Does he let these things trouble him thus, 
do you think? My father used to say he 
feared the king cared for little but pleasure, 
and so I thought — ” 

‘‘Hush, hush, little traitor!” interrupted 
her brother ; “ don’t you know the king can 
do no wrong?” 

“ O, can’t he? I’m glad of that, because, 
you know, when he brought me and Cousin 
Rosalind our lutes. Sir Harry Oakland said — ” 

“ Hush, Audrey ; I never want to hear any 
thing Sir Harry Oaklands said,” commanded 
her brother, in a stern tone. “ I fear you have 
Aeen too free with your tongue, if you have 
told him every thing you may have heard 
talked of at home.” 

Mrs. Aylmer saw that something had oc- 
curred to disturb Launcelot, and so, to turn 
the conversation, she said : “ The king may 
send for you to go to court to-day, my son : 
have you thought of that ? ” 

“ Mr. Coventry did, mother, and gave me 
leave to order whatever was needful at his 
tailor’s, and he would be chargeable.” 

“ It was kind ; but you told him it was not 
heedful, did you not, my son ? The motto of 


At WhitehalL 


31 


the Aylmers has always been, ^ Owe no man 
any thing/ you know/’ 

Yes, I know our proud boast, and do not 
fear I shall forget it now. But still I may find 
it needful to use Mr. Coventry’s name with 
this tailor, until we obtain some payment from 
the king,” said Launcelot. 

“ You will not need a shirt,” said Mrs. Ayl- 
mer, holding up the fine full lawn garment she 
was carefully darning. 

But I must have a new doublet,” said 
Launcelot, looking at the threadbare, shabby 
one he wore. 

^‘Yes, and breeches and boots,” said his 
mother. 

And a hat, with a long feather and silver 
buckle,” put in Audrey, who was delighted at 
the thought of so much finery coming into the 
family, even though it was not for herself 
‘‘ Let me go with you to the tailor, and choose 
your doublet ! What shall it be, mother, ruby 
or purple velvet, and amber satin breeches? 
Do have amber, Launcelot ; it will suit you 
so well. I wonder what the court ladies will 
think of you ! I must comb out your hair and 
curl your love-locks for you,’’ said Audrey, 
skipping across the room to see if Bessie was 
awake, and to tell her the wonderful news. 


32 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 


I must turn out my lace to-day, for you 
must have collar and cuffs to match, and I am 
not sure that the best are ready to wear,’’ said 
Mrs. Aylmer, with a little sigh of satisfaction 
at the thought of seeing her son so fine again. 
She would have liked to ask when he thought 
they would be able to go back to Aylmer 
Court, but somehow he seemed unwilling to 
say more than he could help, and so she con- 
tented herself with talking about the needful 
preparations for his going to court, and sur- 
mising as to how and when the king would 
send for him. 

Audrey and I will have to go next, I sup- 
pose, before we leave London ; but we shall 
have to bring Bessie up again from Aylmer, 
for I am afraid she will not be able to go with 
us for some time.’’ 

“ I am afraid not,” said Launcelot, resolutely 
cutting another slice of rye bread. “ How is 
she now, mother? ” 

‘‘ She don’t complain of any pain, but she 
can’t move her legs yet, at least I told her not 
to try, as the doctor ordered ; and she said she 
had no wish to move, which makes me think 
she cannot,” said Mrs. Aylmer, a little anx- 
iously. 

Launcelot took a drink of the poor flat ale, 


At IV/nte/ia/L 


33 


to hide his emotion ; but as he set down the 
silver-rimmed horn he said: “You must not 
let her try to move yet, mother ; the doctor 
told me last night it would be dangerous/’ 

“ Did he tell you how long she was likely to 
be ill?’- asked his mother, eagerly. 

Launcelot shook his head. “ He said we 
must not think of moving her for some 
weeks.” 

“It is so unfortunate!” exclaimed Mrs. 
Aylmer. “ What shall we do if Audrey and I 
have to go to court from such a place as 
this ? ” and she looked at the dilapidated room, 
and almost groaned at the thought of it. 

3 




■- 



34 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 


CHAPTER III. 

A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT. 

M rs. AYLMER spent the whole day in 
turning over her store of point lace col- 
lars and ruffs, and preparing them for Launce- 
lot to wear, and so to her the time did not 
seem leaden-footed ; neither was she at all 
anxious that no messenger came from White- 
hall to summon Launcelot to attend the king. 
But Launcelot himself grew very anxious as 
the hours went on, and no notice was taken of 
his letter; for he could not forgret that omi- 
nous frown on the king’s face, and he won- 
dered what he should do next if his letter was 
ignored. Something he must do, or his moth- 
er and sisters would soon starve, and he re- 
solved to go and see Mr. Coventry in a day 
or two, if no message came from the king. 

He went to sit with his sister Bessie during 
the afternoon, while Audrey helped her moth- 
er, and he could not help her seeing he was 
very anxious as to the result of his errand 
to Whitehall. 


A Bitter Disappointment. 35 

‘‘You fear we shall not go back to Alymer 
court, don’t you, Launce?’' she asked, fixing 
her earnest blue eyes upon her brother. 

“ I know whose fault it will be if we don’t ! ” 
replied Launcelot, fiercely. 

“Hush! we must not say a word against 
the king. You have often told Audrey that, 
you know.” 

“ I was not thinking of the king, but of the 
man who has poisoned the king’s mind against 
us, Bessie. I have not said a word to mother, 
but I am certain we have an enemy at court.” 

Bessie looked into her brother’s troubled, 
anxious face. “ Why should any body be our 
enemy?” she said. “The king knows us so 
well, too, he is not likely to listen to any idle 
tale.” 

“ You don’t know any thing about the in- 
trigues of a court, and how the king has to 
listen to all sorts of people and all sorts of 
tales.” 

“ But he is not obliged to believe what he 
hears. Do you remember when the king went 
with us to see that poor old man who was 
almost dying, and yet so joyful and content in 
his poverty? He told the king to seek the 
holy Light while he was in exile, and it would 
help him to govern truly if ever he was called 


36 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

to the English throne; and if not, it would 
lead him where he would see the face of 
God.” 

“ I’m afraid the king did not pay much at- 
tention to such instructions as that,” said her 
brother. 

“ Perhaps not ; but I have been thinking of 
it all night, Launce. The old man did not 
notice me, but I have never forgotten his 
words ; and if I could only see this holy Light 
that made his life so happy and blessed, I 
don’t think I should mind much about any 
thing else.” 

These words struck Launcelot like a blow. 
He had nerved himself to disbelieve the doc- 
tor’s words about the hopelessness of Bessie’s 
recovery, but now they returned to him with 
almost a conviction of their truth. “ Don t, 
don’t, Bessie!” he said; “I can’t bear it 
yet ; ” and he lifted his hands, as though the 
sad truth had taken bodily shape, and he 
would push it away from him. 

“ Why, Launce, what do you mean?” asked 
his sister, in surprise ; “ we have talked about 
this before, you and I, and we agreed to seek 
this holy Light. You remember the old man 
said, ‘ He lighteth every man that cometh in- 
to the world,’ only man hid it by worldliness 


A Bitter Disappoint me iit» 37 

and selfishness ; and we must fight against 
these, and conquer these, that the Light 
may shine forth in us; for we cannot see it 
ourselves, unless others see it in us. We 
thought it a great mystery at first, you know, 
and — ” 

Don't, Bessie dear ; let us talk about 
something else now. When we get to Ayl- 
mer Court, you know we agreed we must get 
our affairs settled first, and then, like the 
knight of old who set out to search for the holy 
Cross, we will begin our quest for the holy 
Light.” 

“ But suppose the king cannot give us Ayl- 
mer Court again?” said Bessie, in a whisper. 

“ Then in justice he will give us something 
else. He could give me a piece of court pre- 
ferment, and make you and Audrey maids of 
honor to the new queen, and — ” 

I am afraid we should not have much time 
to seek for the holy Light in the bustle of a 
life at court,” said Bessie, quickly. 

“ But we are not sure that you will go to 
court, you know. If we get our own again, I 
am almost sure that mother will prefer to live 
at Aylmer, and then in the quiet country there 
will be nothing to hinder our quest.” 

“ O ! I should like to see dear old Aylmer 


38 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

again. I wonder whether those dreadful Round- 
heads have altered it much ! ” said Bessie. 

‘‘ Turned it all into a big farm, I dare say ; 
mother’s rose garden into a poultry yard, per- 
haps, and your bower into a cattle shed,” said 
Launcelot, in a bitter tone. 

“ How nice it will be to alter it all back 
again ! ” said Bessie ; ‘‘ and we can make the 
terrace to the rose garden, that every body 
said it wanted, to make it perfect. How did 
the king look this morning?” she suddenly 
asked, by way of turning the conversation. 

“Tall and dark, as usual,” said her brother. 
“ You know he is not very handsome, and 
when he frowns — well, if he was not King 
Charles, we should say he looked downright 
ugly.” 

“ And he frowned at you ? ” said Bessie, in 
quick, anxious tone. 

“ I didn’t say so, little inquisitor.” 

“ No — but — it wasn’t like the king to frown 
at you. I thought he would have said, ‘ Odd’s 
fish, Aylmer, are you in London ? ’ and made 
you go with him, shabby as you were.” 

“ So did I,” said Launcelot ; “ and I confess 
to you, Bessie, though I have not told mother 
or Audrey, that I’m greatly disappointed, and 
that is why I fear we have an enemy at court.” 


A Bitter Disappointment. 39 

‘‘But who could it be? who would try to 
harm us with the king ? 

“ Sir Harry Oaklands would/' promptly re- 
plied Launcelot. “ He took Rosalind away 
from us, and — " 

“ I don’t believe it, Launce," said Bessie, 
quickly. “ Rosalind's head was turned by the 
king bringing her and Audrey a lute, and she 
fretted about our poverty so much, that I be- 
lieve she was willing to go anywhere with 
any body who could offer her a change." 

“ And he took advantage of her poverty and 
ignorance," said Launcelot, through his 
clenched teeth. 

“ I don't believe it was Sir Harry Oak- 
lands," said Bessie ; “ I don't think he would 
do such a thing." 

“ Who else could it have been ? " demanded 
her brother. “ Bessie, I believe the trouble 
about Rosalind, and the miserable life we led 
in Flanders, killed my father ; and that man 
is as surely his murderer as though he had 
struck him down with the sword, and — " 

“ O, Launce, don't say such dreadful 
things ! " exclaimed Bessie, in a distressed 
voice, for the tone in which the words were 
spoken, and the look that accompanied them, 
filled her with an undefined dread, and she 


40 At THE Sign of the Blue Boar. 

almost hoped that the king was offended, that 
her brother might not go to court to meet 
Sir Harry. 

That day passed, and the next, and no mes- 
senger came from Whitehall ; and Mrs. Aylmer 
began to grow fidgety, lest in the bustle of 
preparation for the arrival of the new queen, 
they should be forgotten. 

I think you had better get the new suit 
and go to court, without waiting any longer, 
Launcelot,’' she said, on the third day. The 
new queen has left Portugal, I hear ; and so the 
king will go to meet her shortly, and then — 
Yes, my son, you must try and see the king 
before she comes,'* added the lady, more decid- 
edly, ‘‘ for I should like Audrey to have a 
place in her household ; it gives a lady some 
standing to be connected with the court.’* 

‘‘ Well, mother, I scarcely thought you 
would care to send the girls to court, know- 
ing what you do about the king ; and gossip 
says he is no better now than he was 
abroad.” 

“ But it will be different when he is mar- 
ried ; and, besides, she would be in the 
queen’s household. Do go and see the king 
again ! ” said his mother ; ‘‘ Audrey is so anx- 
ious to go to court.” 


A Bitter Disappointment, 41 

Well, mother, I have been thinking I 
would go and see Mr. Coventry, and ask him 
to get me speech of the king again. I have 
found out that he is secretary to the Duke of 
York, who is Lord Admiral of England ; and 
so he is doubtless often with the king, and 
could say a word for me to his majesty.’' 

I cannot understand how it is the king has 
not sent for you, now he knows you are in 
England. He was free enough when we were 
in Flanders,” said Mrs. Aylmer. 

Ah ! the king in Flanders and the king in 
England scarcely seem like the same person, 
mother,” said Launcelot. 

Well, I never forgot the respect due to his 
majesty, and that he was King of England, 
when his doublet was as frayed as yours is 
now, and he was often at his wits’ end for a 
meal.” 

It was useless to pursue the painful topic 
any further, and Launcelot decided to walk to 
the Navy Office at once, and make' inquiries 
concerning Mr. Coventry. As secretary to the 
admiral, he would necessarily be known in 
the naval department, and Launcelot preferred 
going direct to his public office than waiting 
about Whitehall or St. James’s Palace for a 
chance interview. Judging from what he had 


42 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

already seen of the gentleman, he thought 
he was so kindly disposed, that he had only 
to make his request known, and Mr. Coventry 
would at once promise to gain him an audi- 
ence. In this, however, he was mistaken. He 
was at the Navy Office when Launcelot 
called ; but the moment his eye fell upon the 
shabby velvet doublet, he knew that for some 
reason Charles did not want the young man 
at court, whatever his claims might be ; and 
he had ascertained, too, that Aylmer court 
was about to pass into the possession of his 
master, the Duke of York, and, therefore, such 
a claimant as Launcelot was not likely to be 
welcome either to the king or his brother. 
So he met Launcelot with rather a curt 
greeting. 

The king has not sent for you yet, young 
man, I suppose?’^ he said, turning over some 
papers that lay on the table before him. 

Not yet ; and it was to ask your good 
offices with the king that I came to see you,” 
said Launcelot, quickly. 

‘‘You want me to — to — ” and Coventry 
paused. 

“To present me to his majesty. I know, 
if I could see him, I could disabuse his mind 
of any doubt concerning us ; and it is needful 


A Bitter Disappointment. 43 

I should press my claim for Aylmer Court at 
once/* 

Launcelot spoke earnestly and eagerly, the 
more so that Mr. Coventry seemed to be giv- 
ing but scant attention to him. In this, how- 
ever, he was mistaken. Mr. Coventry was 
giving every attention to what Launcelot said, 
and wondering how he should get himself out 
of a disagreeable predicament. It would not 
be agreeable either to the king or the Duke 
of York to be pestered about the Aylmer 
inheritance, now that it had come into the 
latter’s possession ; and so he was wondering 
what he could do to put off Launcelot in a civil 
way, until he could sound Charles as to his 
intention toward the family. If the king 
intended to acknowledge their claims, it would 
not do to offend a man who might by and by 
be a friend of the king; but neither, on the 
other hand, would it answer his purpose to 
befriend any body obnoxious to his majesty, 
and so at last he laid aside his papers, and 
said : 

But you cannot go to court as you are. 
Did you go to my tailor’s about the doublet 
and breeches?” 

^‘No; I have been waiting for the king to 
summon me to Whitehall,” answered Launce- 


44 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

lot, for I did not doubt but the tailor 
could fit me with all things needful in an 
hour.” 

“Well, go and get them to-day, at my 
charge, and come here again to-morrow; and 
if the king is pleased to receive you, we will 
go at once to Whitehall.” 

So Launcelot went home greatly elated at 
the thought of so soon seeing the king ; while 
Mr. Coventry decided to ask the king with 
some caution if he knew these Aylmers, and 
to be guided by his answer whether he should 
give Launcelot any facility for seeing Charles. 
He was to accompany the Duke of York to 
Whitehall that afternoon, to make the final 
arrangements about the escort to be sent to 
meet the Princess of Portugal, the future 
queen, and at this interview he would contrive 
to say a word to the king about Launcelot. 
But Charles, who thought every minute wasted 
that was given to the most necessary business 
instead of pleasure, cut short his explanation 
as to how he had met with the Aylmers by 
saying : 

“ Odd’s fish, don’t worry me about churches 
and wenches ; give the fellow something to do 
in your office, or tell Pepys to take him.” 

Now Mr. Coventry was making a handsome 


A Bitter Disappointment, 45 

fortune by the sale of all appointments, so he 
was not best pleased to be told he must give 
one of these to Launcelot, and decided to 
send him to Mr. Pepys, Secretary to the 
Admiralty, who could give him a small clerk- 
ship in his department Meanwhile Launce- 
lot had been to the tailor’s, and got himself 
fitted with a handsome court suit of purple 
velvet and satin, with a broad-brimmed hat 
and long white ostrich feather, which, with 
the fine lawn shirt and lace collar and ruffs 
his mother had got ready, made him look as 
fine a gentleman as any in London. 

Audrey was in raptures over her brother’s 
finery, although she was greatly disappointed 
that her advice about the amber satin breeches 
had not been taken, and Launcelot had 
chosen such sober colors for his first court 
suit. She insisted upon curling his hair her- 
self that morning, and truly his long, flowing 
chestnut locks, falling on the broad point 
lace collar, did her deft fingers justice; and 
Mrs. Aylmer shed tears of motherly pride as 
she looked at her handsome son, and thought 
how pleased the king would be to welcome 
him to court. 

For economy’s sake, it was decided that he 
should go by water from Paul’s Wharf to the 


46 At the Sign ot the Blue Boar. 


Tower Stairs, as a coach would be too expen- 
sive for their slender means, and he could not 
walk through the city without exciting too 
many remarks from the saucy apprentices ; 
but in the neighborhood of the Tower he 
would not be remarked, for the king and his 
court often went there, and the Navy Office 
was not far off ; so there was no difficulty to 
encounter on the score of his fine clothes in 
that neighborhood, any more than there 
would have been at Whitehall. 

Of course his court dress gained him admis- 
sion to the Navy Office almost without a 
question being asked, and he was obsequious- 
ly bowed to Mr. Coventry’s room, and asked 
to wait until that gentleman arrived. While 
sitting there, Launcelot amused himself by 
thinking how differently the world was treating 
him already, and that for his mother and 
sisters in future there would be smiles instead 
of frowns ; for he had felt certain of attaining 
his ancestral home, now that Mr. Coventry 
had undertaken to introduce him to the king. 
When that gentleman arrived, he rose to greet 
him with an easy grace, which Coventry chose 
to ignore. He looked cross and out of 
temper, and muttered something about '‘fine 
feathers ” ns he took his seat. 


A Bitter Disappointment, 47 

Launcelot could only stare in blank amaze- 
ment for a minute or two at this unex- 
pected reception, but he managed to say, 
at last : 

“Have you spoken to the king for me?’’ 

“Yes; and he bid me send you to Mr. 
Pepys, who will find you some appointment in 
his office.” 

“ But — but I was to see the king to-day,” 
said Launcelot, in amazement. 

“ The king is too busy over matters concern- 
ing the arrival of the queen;” and, summon- 
ing an attendant, Coventry cut short the 
interview by saying, “ Show this gentleman to 
Mr. Pepys’s office,” and turned to the papers 
on tlie table without a word. 

“Who is Mr. Pepys?” asked Launcelot, 
who had never heard the name before. 

“ He is Secretary to the Admiralty ; his of- 
fice is close by, sir,” said the attendant. 

Launcelot followed the man, but found that 
Mr. Pepys was not in his office. The clerk 
thought he had gone home. 

“ He lives in Seething Lane, hard by St. 
Olave’s Church, sir,” explained the attendant, 
who thought Launcelot was some nobleman 
come on business for the king, and treated 
him with all due deference. You will not 


48 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

need a coach, sir,'’ he added, seeing Launcelot 
hesitate. 

Thank you. I don't think I shall have 
any need to see Mr. Pepys," said Launcelot ; 
and he turned away in the direction of the 
Tower, stunned and bewildered by this sudden 
overthrow of his hopes. It was clear now 
that the king did not intend to see him or ac- 
knowledge his claim to the family estate ; and 
his heart grew very bitter as he thought of 
the poverty at home, and how wealth and 
honor and life had been given up by his father 
in the service of the king. 


Mary Maitland. 


49 


CHAPTER IV. 

MARY MAITLAND. 

J^AUNCELOT had scarcely left home, and 
the room was still in disorder ; for Au- 
drey had curled his hair in the sitting-room, 
and various collars and ruffs had been tried 
on there, and those that had been discarded 
lay scattered on the table beside hair-brushes 
and combs and pomades ; since, instead of 
putting these things away, Audrey had run to 
the window to try and catch a glimpse of her 
brother as the waterman pushed off into the 
stream. She was still standing there, strain- 
ing her eyes to see the effect of the handsome 
purple velvet doublet and point lace collar, 
when there came a gentle knock at the door, 
and, on opening it, Audrey saw a young lady 
about her own age, only tall and stately-look- 
ing, but dressed so primly and plainly that at 
first she was inclined to think she must be a 
servant. 

“ Good-morrow,’' said her visitor, in a sweet, 
musical voice. We have heard of the sad 
4 


50 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

accident that happened last Sunday to some 
one living here, and I have brought a posy of 
sweet flowers — God's messengers of love and 
good cheer.’' 

Will you walk in ? ” said Audrey, casting 
a rueful glance at the untidy room, and trying 
to be as stately and self-composed as this Pu- 
ritan maiden ; for Audrey had settled that 
point in her own mind — she was one of these 
Puritan Roundheads, and as such there could 
be little more than the coldest civility between 
them, any more than there was between the 
Jews and Samaritans of old ; but she could 
scarcely send her and her flowers away with- 
out telling her mother and Bessie, for her sis- 
ter was so fond of flowers, and Audrey was 
secretly longing to snatch them from her hand 
and run with them to Bessie’s room at once. 
But, although the flowers had been offered to 
her, Audrey would not touch them. The 
smoothly-banded hair under the plain hood, 
and the simple white handkerchief folded 
across her breast, proclaimed all too surely 
that this sweet-faced, gentle-voiced girl was 
one of their enemies ; and Audrey half ex- 
pected her mother w’ould say she had done 
wrong in inviting such a guest to enter their 
home. 


Mary Maitland, 


51 


Whether Mrs. Aylmer would have done this 
or not it is hard to say, for Bessie took the 
matter out of their hands by exclaiming, 

You say she is a stranger come to bring me 
flowers? How very kind! Do ask her to 
come and see me ; ” and Mrs. Aylmer signing 
her assent to this proposal, Audrey returned 
and asked their visitor to walk into Bessie’s 
room. 

“ I was so sorry to hear you had been hurt 
in the church,” she said, as she stepped for- 
ward and placed the flowers in Bessie’s hands. 

‘‘ You are very kind,” murmured Mrs. Ayl- 
mer, glancing first at Bessie’s delighted gaze 
at the flowers, and then at her visitor’s suspi- 
ciously plain dress ; but at the same time she 
placed a chair near the bedside for her, and 
the visitor sat down. 

‘‘ It is, indeed, kind of you to bring these 
lovely flowers to me, a stranger,” said Bessie. 

Well, I am so fond of flowers myself — they 
seem like God’s letters to us, I think— and I 
thought you were ill, and he would want you 
to remember that it was out of the fullness of 
his loving-kindness that he had afflicted you 
just now.” 

This was said in such a natural tone that no 
one could doubt the speaker fully believed 


52 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

what she said. Mrs. Aylmer did not look best 
pleased, however, and would have liked to say 
that it had happened at a most inconvenient 
time ; but she saw that Bessie looked pleased 
and interested, and so she left them to them- 
selves, while she went to look after Audrey. 

“She is a Puritan, I feel sure, mother,” said 
Audrey, in a whisper, as her mother closed 
Bessie’s door. 

“Very likely,” said Mrs. Aylmer ; “ but Bes- 
sie was so pleased with the flowers I could not 
tell her to take them back.” 

“ I don’t like Puritans ; but she looks like 
a lady, mother,” said Audrey, as she gathered 
up the implements of her brother’s toilet off 
the table. 

“Yes, she does,” assented Mrs. Aylmer; 
“but it matters little to us who she is or what 
she is, for v/e are not likely to meet her when 
we go to Aylmer Court.” 

“ Then you will let her come and see Bes- 
sie again, I suppose?” 

“ Certainly, if Bessie wishes it. I think it 
may do her good to have a little change of so- 
ciety now, and this girl will amuse her, I have 
no doubt. Did you see Launcelot in the 
boat?” asked Mrs. Aylmer, returning to a 
more congenial topic of conversation. 


Mary Maitland, 


53 


0 yes. He will make a splendid court 
gallant, mother. I wonder whether the king 
will recognize him at once ? I wonder whether 
he would know me if I went to court in a 
splendid satin train and with twenty patches 
on my face ? ’’ 

1 don’t like patches,” said Mrs. Aylmer; 
and I hope the new queen will set another 

fashion when she comes.” 

But my Lady Castlemaine wears patches, 
and — ” 

Audrey, how dare you mention Lady Cas- 
tlemaine’s name to me?” interrupted her 
mother, in a displeased tone. 

The girl hung her head, but said, by way of 
excuse, that she had seen her sitting with the 
king in the royal barge when on their way to 
Greenwich. “ And every body is talking about 
her and the king,” she added. 

Mrs. Aylmer sighed. I am glad the king 
is to be married so soon,” she said ; it will 
put an end to all these scandals, and the court 
will speedily be reformed.” 

“ And then you think patches will go out of 
fashion?” said Audrey, who was longing to 
try the effect of black plaster on her fair 
face. 

I hope so,” said Mrs. Aylmer, shortly. 


54 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

‘‘ But they might wear devices cut out of 
the patchment. Launcelot saw a lady with a 
coach and horses on her forehead the day he 
went to Whitehall. I should like that, I think, 
better than the patches. I wonder how long 
it will be before 1 go to Greenwich in a royal 
barge ! '' sighed Audrey. 

Meanwhile the two girls, left to themselves, 
were rapidly making each others acquaint- 
ance. After a little conversation about the 
accident in St. Dunstan’s Church Bessie told 
her visitor they were Royalists just returned 
from exile to claim the family estate, and that 
her brother had gone that day to see the king 
at Whitehall to commence the necessary busi- 
ness. Then her visitor told Bessie her name 
was Mary Maitland, that her father was the 
lecturer or curate of a neighboring church, 
and they lived at the vicarage close by; that 
she was the eldest child, and the sister-mother 
to four younger brothers and sisters, and that 
she helped her father in his parish work by 
visiting some of the sick poor of the neigh- 
borhood. 

Mr. Baxter came to see us last night and 
told us all about the fright in the church, and 
that one of those who had been m.ost seriously 
hurt lived at the sign of the Blue Boar, near 


Mary Maitland, 55 

Paul's Wharf/’ explained Mary ; and I said 
I would make inquiries about you to-day.” 

“ It is very kind of you,” said Bessie, ‘‘ and 
I hope you will come and see me again — come 
as often as you can while we are here.” 

“You will not be here long, you think!” 
said Mary, in a questioning tone. 

“ We hope not ; we hope to go to our old 
home in the country very soon. O, I hope we 
shall go, for Launcelot’s sake ! ” suddenly ex- 
claimed Bessie. “ Launcelot is my brother,” 
she went on, “ and we agreed a long time ago 
— my brother and I — that we would seek the 
holy Light when once our affairs were settled; 
and, since I have been lying here, I have 
wanted to begin so much, but Launcelot thinks 
we must wait until we get to Aylmer Court.” 

“ What do you mean by the holy Light ? ” 
asked Mary, thinking this must be something 
new of which she had not heard before. 

Bessie looked surprised at the question. “ I 
thought you would be sure to know all about 
it, after what you said concerning the flowers 
just now,” she remarked. “ Is not Christ the 
Light of the world ; the Light that lighteth 
every one of us, if we will listen to the holy 
voice within, and follow in his footsteps ? ” 

“ But why should you wait until you go into 


56 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

the country to seek God ? ’’ said Mary. He 
is here in London, though I grant you it is a 
marvelous wicked city, more especially since 
the court — ” But there Mary paused, sud- 
denly remembering that, as a Royalist, Bessie 
could not be expected to view the king and 
his doings from the same stand-point that she 
did ; and so she wisely said, Each of us helps 
to swell the sins of this great city, but God is 
as near us here, and as ready to be found of 
those who truly seek him, as though we dwelt 
in a solitary place, with no other soul near/' 
‘^Yes," said Bessie, slowly, as though she 
was pondering over the words. 

It was in a crowd, you know, that the 
woman who had an issue sought and found 
Jesus ; and as many of us have to spend our 
lives here in London, if it were necessary to 
go to the country to find pardon and peace 
with God, I am afraid few would be saved/' 

‘‘ Do you know what this is — this peace with 
God ?” asked Bessie, in a low, eager tone. 

''Yes, dear friend, I do; and it is only to 
be found in Christ — " 

‘' That is what the old man told us," inter- 
rupted Bessie. '‘ He said that Jesus Christ 
was the light of the world, and that if we fol- 
lowed him we should not walk in darkness, 


Mary Maitland, 


57 


but have the light of life. The gift and grace 
of God is life and salvation given to all, though 
few regard it. That was what I was told a 
long time ago, and that is what I mean by the 
holy Light. But how am I to seek it ? The 
old man said few regard it, that we put it un- 
der the bushel of selfishness and worldliness 
and sin ; and that is just what I have been 
doing all my life. I feel as though I were 
dead and buried in sin,’’ added Bessie, mourn- 
fully. 

“Not dead, dear friend; dead people and 
dead souls feel nothing — no pain or anxiety as 
to their state. The very sense of pain, the 
sorrow you feel, is a proof of life. You may 
be almost buried in sin, but there are the stir- 
rings of life now ; and while there is life there 
is hope, you know. Hope in God,” added Mary. 

‘‘You see I never thought any thing about 
these things, until one day in Flanders a party 
of us were out in the country, and were obliged 
to seek shelter in a cottage from a heavy thun- 
der-storm. We found an old man living there 
alone^ — an Englishman, and he knew the king, 
and spoke to him about seeing this holy Light. 
He did not notice me, but I have never for- 
gotten his words, and Launcelot and I agreed 
that we would begin ; but somehow we seemed 


58 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 


to go on just as usual; but he says we shall 
begin when we get to Aylmer now.’' 

But why should you wait until then ? Why 
should you keep God waiting for you ? ” said 
Mary, quickly. 

“ Keep God waiting ! ” repeated Bessie. 

“ Yes, dear ; he is waiting, he is speaking to 
you by this inward voice, by the shining of 
this holy Light that you spoke of just now. 
He is asking you to come to him, that he 
may give you more light.” 

‘‘ How shall I go? what shall I do?” asked 
Bessie. “ I would not keep him waiting. I 
want to obey this holy voice, to seek this holy 
Light.” 

Christ is the way. You say you are buried 
in sin ; he only can take it out of the way. He 
is the Life stirring in you now, making you long 
for more life, even the grace of God which 
passeth all understanding.” 

“ How can T get this peace ?” asked Bessie, 
eagerly, You see I cannot go to church or 
do any thing now,” she added. 

‘‘ And God does not desire that you should 
do anything. Priests and grand ceremonies are 
but screens and shadows between the soul and 
God. Christ is speaking to your soul himself, 
and he would have you reply to himself, not 


Mary Maitland, 


59 


through another. You have a Testament, 
haven’t you ? You have read Christ’s invita- 
tion, ^ Come unto me, all ye that labor and 
are heavy laden, and I will give you rest ? ’ — 
— rest from sin, and worldliness, and self-seek- 
ing — a rest that is almost like heaven below, I 
have heard my father say.” 

“ I have a Testament somewhere, and I think 
I remember reading those words. I will ask 
mother to find it, and read them again,” said 
Bessie. Will you say them once more ? They 
are very sweet,” she added. 

They are the words of the Voice speaking 
in you now ; the loving invitation is the same ! ” 
and once more Mary repeated slowly the words 
that have healed and comforted so many gen- 
erations of weary, laboring souls. 

‘‘But my sins?” said Bessie; “you don^t 
know what a sinner I am.” 

“ But Christ does, and heavy as the load is, 
he has borne it for you. God knew what the 
cry of your heart would be, and, in his infinite 
love and compassion, he sent his Son to die 
for us, that we might see in this sacrifice of 
himself how great the love of God is for us. 
There is no other name or way by which we 
can be saved but through Christ, and priests 
and ceremonies are but shadows and hin- 


6o At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

derances.’' Mary insisted upon this so much, 
because in her Puritan home she had heard so 
often of the attempt of Archbishop Laud to 
introduce a modification of popery into the 
Church, and the peril of admitting rites and 
ceremonies, priests or ministers, to come be- 
tween the individual soul and God ; and, guess- 
ing that Bessie had been brought up to con- 
sider these outward observances all-important 
in religion, she thought she would throw in a 
word of caution against placing any depend- 
ence in them. 

If Mrs. Aylmer had guessed that religion 
was the subject of conversation between the 
two girls, she would scarcely have left them to 
themselves so long; for Puritanism, viewed 
from her stand point, was any thing but good. 
To her mind, religion had been most grievously 
degraded — almost shorn of all decency — dur- 
ing the last few years. The plain, simple, un- 
adorned ritual of the Puritans, in her view, 
sav^ored of irreverence and impiety; and, re- 
calling what English churches had been, and 
what the ritual of the Church was becoming 
under the direction of Laud, she could only 
feel shocked and repelled whenever she went 
to church now. For her, therefore, to have 
heard Mary say that priests and ceremonies 


Mary Maitland, 6i 

were but shadows hiding God from the soul, 
would but have provoked her to say that 
Mary was too young to know what she was 
talking about, and that it would be best to 
leave such grave subjects until she could un- 
derstand them — an admonition that would 
probably have been followed by a request not 
to trouble herself to call again, as her children 
were already well informed upon religious 
matters, and needed no instruction from a 
Puritan. 

But, fortunately, Mrs. Aylmer had no time 
to think of what was going on in Bessie’s 
room, for Audrey’s chatter about patches, 
and going to Greenwich in the royal barge, 
reminded her mother that she might be sum- 
moned to court on very short notice after 
Launcelot had seen the king, and so she de- 
cided to turn out her store of old finery, to 
see if there was not a dress or train that could 
be made into something suitable for Audrey to 
wear, for once at least. Of course Audrey was 
delighted to engage in such a search. To turn 
out the satin, brocade, velvet, and taffeta 
dresses in which her mother had appeared at 
the court of Queen Henrietta Maria, was what 
she delighted in ; and though they were faded 
and worn and shabby, it pleased her to think 


62 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

she was now within measurable distance of 
wearing some of them. She was quite sure 
that a petticoat and train suitable for her to 
wear could be made out of these ; and with 
her hair curled, and her face dexterously 
patched, she would look as fine as any court 
lady among them. 

Her mother smiled and sighed as she thought 
of all the glory and splendor that the sight of 
these dresses recalled ; but it amused her, as 
well as Audrey, to turn over the store, and 
plan and contrive how a rubbed seam could be 
cut off here, and a faded piece taken out there, 
and still leave sufficient for a petticoat or train 
for a slim figure like Audrey. 

Mother and daughter were still deep in 
the consideration of a crimson satin petticoat, 
when the door of Bessie’s room was opened, 
and Mary Maitland came out. The girl could 
not help looking in amazement at this dis- 
play of faded finery — for the room looked 
now like a cast-off clothes shop — but she 
was too polite to say more than was neces- 
sary. 

‘‘Your daughter seems to be very much 
hurt,” she remarked, as she picked her way 
between the heaps of clothes toward the 
door. 


63 


Mary Maitland. 

Yes; she is ordered to keep quiet for a lit- 
tle while,” said Mrs. Aylmer. “Thank you for 
calling to see her,*’ she added* 

“ I may call again in a few days, may I not ? ” 
asked Mary. 

“ Yes, certainly, if we are here ; but we shall 
be removing shortly, I hope ; ” and then Mrs. 
Aylmer wished her good morning, and returned 
to Audrey and her work of planning out the 
petticoats. 


64 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 


CHAPTER V. 
launcelot’s appointment. 

I T would be difficult to describe the varied 
emotions raging in Launcelot^s breast as he 
turned from the Navy Office, and walked up 
Seething Lane in the direction of the Tower. 
F'irst Mr. Coventry, then Sir Harry Oaklands 
was the object of his bitter thoughts ; but only 
an occasional flush of resentment did he feel 
toward the king, and this was instantly checked 
as savoring of something traitorous. 

Coventry wouldn't take the trouble. He’s 
an ill-natured fellow^ after all, I believe,” mut- 
tered Launcelot, as he drew near the Tower 
Stairs, and suddenly thought he would take a 
boat to Whitehall and boldly demand an audi- 
ence of the king. His dress would give him 
some advantage to-day, and he would possibly 
be allowed to pass the gates without question ; 
and once he could see the king, and state his 
case, their troubles would be over. 

He is so good-natured, he would not refuse 
to see me, I am sure,” murmured Launcelot, 


Launcelof s Appointment, 65 

forgetting that this same easy good-nature had 
often led the king to be unjust as well as gen- 
erous, and that there was very little reliance to 
be placed in it if trouble to himself was involved 
in its exercise. 

At last, after thinking over the matter for 
some time, he resolved to see his mother first, 
before deciding to force himself upon the 
king’s notice; and so he called a boatman, and 
was rowed back to Paul’s Wharf. 

The river was alive now with pleasure boats 
and barges, some on their way to Deptford, 
where an entertainment was to be given at 
Saye Court by Sir John Evelyn; and others, 
still more splendid, were carrying the court to 
Greenwich, where the king intended to build a 
new palace, or add a wing to the old one, for 
he was almost as fond of this rural retreat as 
Henry the Eighth had been. 

The sight of the royal flotilla, with their 
gilded prows and silken hangings, of course 
convinced Launcelot that it would be useless 
to attempt to gain an audience of the king to- 
day, and he bade the man row him with all 
speed to Paul’s, for he was anxious to consult 
with his mother as to his future action; and 
whatever was decided must be done quickly, 

for the king would soon be going to Ports- 
5 


66 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

mouth to meet the Princess of Portugal, to say 
nothing of their own needy circumstances, that 
demanded instant relief from some source. 

When Launcelot reached home the ques- 
tion of petticoats and trains was still under 
discussion, and the sight of the faded finery 
vexed him not a little. Audrey jumped up as 
soon as he opened the door, and ran forward 
to greet him. 

“ How soon you are back ! Has the king 
sent for me ? she asked. “ Mother is going 
to alter — 

‘‘Hush, Audrey!” interposed her mother, 
now coming forward, for she knew by the look 
on Launcelot's face that something had gone 
wrong. “ What is it, my son ? ” she asked, 
anxiously, as Launcelot dropped into a chair. 

“ I haven’t seen the king,” he answered. 

“Nor Mr. Coventry? I thought you had 
arranged to meet him this morning at the 
Navy Office?” said Mrs Aylmer. 

“ O ! I’ve seen Coventry ; but I don’t know 
what to make of him to-day, his manner 
toward me was so changed.” 

Mrs Aylmer, who knew more of courtiers 
and their manners toward aspirants for royal 
favor than Launcelot did, turned pale as she 
heard this. “ He would not take you to see 


Laiuicelof s Appointment, 67 

the king as he had promised ? she whis- 
pered, 

‘^No; said the king was too busy to re- 
ceive me/’ 

“Had he mentioned your name to the king?’’ 

“ I suppose so. O yes ! he must, for the 
king told him to send me to Mr. Pepys about 
some appointment/’ 

“Who is Mr. Pepys?” asked the lady, 
brightening at the vision of some comfortable 
sinecure in the royal household, which would 
take them all at once into the sunshine of the 
royal presence. 

“ O ! some fellow at the Navy Office,” said 
Launcelot, crossly and contemptuously. It 
vexed him to see Audrey toying with that 
faded finery. His own had given him no small 
pleasure an hour or two before ; but he hated 
the sight of it now, for it seemed a bitter 
mockery of their destitution ; and now how his 
mother and sister could take pleasure in look- 
ing over these mementoes of their past great- 
ness he could not understand. 

Mrs. Aylmer divined something of what was 
passing in his mind, and said We thought 
Audrey’s turn to be made fine would come 
soon, and so we have been looking over my 
old dresses.” 


68 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

How is Bessie?’' asked Launcelot, by way 
of turning the conversation. 

‘‘ O, Bessie has had a visitor this morning,” 
said Audrey, dropping the velvet train she 
was examining, and turning her attention to 
her brother. ''A Puritan girl brought her 
some flowers ; I know she was a Puritan by 
her dress, but she might have been a queen 
for stateliness.” 

Not much like you, then, my Royalist sis- 
ter,” said Launcelot, smiling, as Audrey 
slipped across the room and opened Bessie’s 
door. 

‘‘Are you awake?” she asked. “ Launce 
has come back, dear.” 

“Ask him to come in and tell me all about 
every thing. Are we going to Aylmer soon ? ” 
said Bessie. 

“ Don’t ask him, dear,” whispered Audrey. 

“ He hasn’t seen the king, and he’s dread- 
fully cross.” 

“ Poor Launce ! he’s disappointed,” said 
Bessie. “ Tell him to come and see me.” 

Launcelot came in, and sat down on the 
side of the bed, looking sadly pitiful at the pale 
face on the pillow. 

“Never mind, Launce; if we don’t go to 
Aylmer again, God will take care of us here,” 


Lanncelof s A ppointment, 69 

whispered Bessie, as she toyed with the deep 
lace ruffle that hung half over the hand that 
held hers. 

‘‘ But I must — I will get Aylmer!'' said her 
brother, passionately. “ I want it for your 
sake : you will not have a chance to get well 
staying here." 

“ God can give me his peace here," whis- 
pered Bessie. 

“ We’ll talk about that some other time,'* 
said Launcelot, impatiently ; “ I didn't see the 
king this morning, Bessie." 

“ What is to be done for mother? Audrey 
says our last gold piece has been changed," 
said Bessie. “Couldn't you get an appoint- 
ment, or something, until the king has time to 
attend to our business?" 

Launcelot looked thoughtfully at his sister. 

“ I might do that while I am waiting, as you 
say, Bessie. Perhaps that was what the king 
intended," he suddenly added, his counte- 
nance brightening as he spoke, “ How stupid 
of me never to think of it before ! Mother," he 
called, “ I think I will go back to the Navy 
Office at once, and see this Mr. Pepys. I 
must do something, or we shall all starve ; 
and you may be sure the king has thought of 
that, and has ordered Mr. Pepys to give me 


70 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

an appointment until he can attend to our 
business. We may have to wait until after he 
is married, as the Princess of Portugal is on 
her way here, and this is the only thing he can 
do for us at present.’' 

“ Perhaps so,” said Mrs. Aylmer, who did 
not like to damp her son’s suddenly-revived 
hope, but could not feel so sanguine about the 
matter after Mr. Coventry’s strange reception, 
related by Launcelot. 

Had the king intended to favor their suit 
he would not have sent him to Mr. Pepys 
without sending for him to court first, and 
Mr. Coventry would not have treated him 
with such scant ceremony if he had been 
likely to rise in the king’s favor by and by. 

She was busy folding and laying by the old 
court dresses of her youth, and with them 
went the hopes of seeing her children resplen- 
dent in satin and jewels; for she knew’ all too 
well that this appointment, whatever it might 
be, was all they were likely to get from the 
king. 

But Launcelot was full of hope and expec- 
tation again now, and scarcely waited for their 
frugal midday meal to be dispatched, so im- 
patient was he to be back at the Navy Office 
and see this Mr. Pepys. 


Laiincelofs Appointment, 71 

It was as well, perhaps, for Launcelot that 
he had not gone direct to that gentleman after 
leaving Mr. Coventry; for with no recommen- 
dations or special fitness for a clerkship, busi- 
ness-like Mr. Pepys would very likely have 
dismissed him with the assurance that he had 
no vacancy in his office. But a conversation 
that took place while Launcelot was on his 
way home prepared Mr. Pepys for his visit; 
and as the king had desired that an appoint- 
ment should be given him — well, of course, 
his fitness or capability for the duties required 
of him would be of secondary importance just 
now ; although Mr. Pepys was not the man to 
have these slighted, and he did not mean to 
let the clerkship become a mere sinecure, 
although he would, of course, treat Launcelot 
with every consideration while teaching him 
his duties. 

So, when Launcelot presented himself a 
second time at the Navy Office, and inquired 
for Mr. Pepys, he found that gentleman fully 
prepared to receive him, and to give him an 
appointment at a very fair salary, but which, 
of course, seemed a mere pittance to Launce- 
lot, who had expected a much more lucrative 
post. The Secretary of the Navy saw at once 
the disappointment felt by Launcelot, and 


72 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

hastened to explain that it was the best post 
he could offer him. The more lucrative 
appointments were in another department, 
under the control of Mr. Coventry, who sold 
them often to the highest bidder, and for some 
thousands of pounds. 

If you have money at command, it would 
be better to purchase one of these appoint- 
ments,’’ advised Mr. Pepys ; for I must tell 
you fairly, that if you come to me for this 
salary, you must earn it. I have to apply 
myself to the duties of my post, and you 
must do the same ; but I will make them as 
light as I can for you. Still, if you have 
money, buy a better.” 

“Money!” exclaimed Launcelot; “should 
I be here if I had money? My father was 
a Royalist gentleman who raised and main- 
tained a company of troopers for the late 
king, and sold my mother’s jewels to keep 
Charles the Second when he was in exile ; and 
now we have changed the last gold piece, I 
am offered this pittance fit for a beggar! ” 

Mr. Pepys felt uncomfortable. He liked to 
be happy himself, and he liked to make every 
body else easy and comfortable, and he could 
not but own that Launcelot’s was a very hard 


case. 


Laiincelof s Appointment, 73 

‘‘ But as things have come to such a pass 
with you that you have changed the last 
piece/' said practical Mr. Pepys, ‘‘ would it 
not be better to accept for the present what 
the king offers you here, and by and by you 
may have an opportunity of recommending 
yourself to the notice of his majesty, and he 
may give you something better? I can let 
you have your first quarter’s salary to-day, if 
you wish — it can always be paid in advance.” 

He did not tell Launcelot that this arrange- 
ment could be made through the medium of 
his own pocket, and he was too ignorant of 
business to suspect that there was any thing 
extraordinary in this arrangement. It 
clinched the matter, however ; for the idea of 
taking home a handful of money to lay in his 
mother’s lap was too tempting to be refused, 
and he said, slowly, “ Thank you ; I will come, 
and I will do my best to give you satisfaction.” 

‘‘You will not find me hard to please. 
Will you come to-morrow?” asked Mr. Pepys, 
preparing a receipt for Launcelot to sign ; for 
every thing was done with methodical pre- 
cision in the department ruled over by Mr. 
Pepys. 

“Yes; I will be here to-morrow morning,” 
said Launcelot. 


74 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

‘‘ Can you be here by eight o’clock? For I 
go by water to Deptford with Sir William 
Penn, vice-admiral of the fleet, to see the ships 
now going to meet the Princess of Portugal, 
and I must needs take a clerk to note some 
matters concerning the appointments and 
departure of the ships.” 

While he was speaking Mr. Pepys looked 
more carefully at Launcelot’s dress, and won- 
dered whether he would present himself in a 
purple velvet doublet and satin breeches, to do 
the work of a subordinate clerk. 

But Launcelot was quite as quick to inter- 
pret looks as Mr. Pepys, and he said, You 
wish me to come in a different dress to-mor- 
row ?” and then he took a more careful survey 
of his employer’s attire, judging that it would 
be best to follow his example in this particular, 
even though it should be little better than 
that of an apprentice. 

“ Velvet is scarcely fit for the grim and dirt 
of a ship,” said Mr. Pepys, who had only 
recently worn velvet himself, even on state 
occasions. 

I understand,” said Launcelot ; I will 
get a broadcloth doublet before to-morrow 
morning.” 

He spoke the words easy enough, but it 


Latincclofs Appointment, 75 

was by no means so easy to make such a de- 
cision ; and what his mother would say, when 
she heard that he had deliberately promised 
to lay aside what she considered the dis- 
tinguishing badge of their rank and station, he 
did not know. 

Dress was in those days an outward indica- 
tion of the rank of the wearer, and an* appren- 
tice or citizen would no more think of assum- 
ing the dress of a gentleman or nobleman than 
that of a bishop; and therefore this question 
of wearing the attire of a clerk was no small 
matter to Launcelot, and left a bitter sting in 
his heart. 

It is but another count in the charges I 
shall one day bring against Oaklands ! 
he muttered, as he left the Navy Office, 
and once more turned toward the Tower 
Stairs. 

There was a grim satisfaction in thinking, as 
he hailed a waterman, that it was the last time 
he should have to pay toll for wearing a dress 
becoming his proper rank in society; that an- 
other day would see him undistinguished by 
any mark from the common toilers in London, 
and he would be able to walk unnoticed through 
the streets of the city. But there was more 
pain than pleasure in the thought, and there 


76 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

was not much elation in his greeting when he 
went home and laid twenty gold pieces in his 
mother's hand. 

She was so overcome at the sight that she 
burst into tears ; for, although she had care- 
fully concealed the fact that the last had been 
changed, her heart was full of anxious forebod- 
ing as to how their wants were to be supplied 
when the few shillings that remained had been 
spent. ‘‘That must last us three months, 
mother,” said Launcelot, trying to speak cheer- 
fully. 

“ Where did you get it ? ” asked Mrs. Aylmer. 

“ It is my first quarter’s salary, mother. I 
have taken the appointment offered me by the 
king.” 

Mrs. Aylmer looked as though she did not 
understand. She knew no more of business 
than her son ; but the word appointment ” 
brought with it to her mind visions of wealth 
that was very inadequately represented by 
the twenty gold pieces before her, and she 
said : “ What is this appointment you are 
speaking of — not in the royal household, I 
suppose?” 

“ No, no; in the Navy Office, where Mr. Pepys 
was good enough to tell me I should have to 
work for the money I received. I a'm a clerk. 


Launcelof s Appointment, 77 

mother, neither more nor less. I may be a 
little more than a city ’prentice lad, but I’m 
not sure even about that,” added Launcelot, 
bitterly. 

But, my son, the king could never intend 
you to do any thing so menial, even for a time,” 
said Mrs. Aylmer. 

It was the best Mr. Pepys could do for 
me, mother ; and when I thought of you here 
I felt compelled to accept it.” 

But only this for a quarter’s salary ? Why, 
it is little more than your father paid for a 
chaplain to say grace at dinner.” 

‘‘ Launcelot groaned. Visions of Aylmer 
Court and his mother’s rose garden had been 
in his mind all the way home, and it was very 
hard, very bitter to give them up, and sink 
into the insignificance of a subordinate work- 
ing clerk in the Navy Office. 

But in a minute or two he raised his head, 
and said: ‘‘Be patient, mother; I will avenge 
my father’s wrongs, and win back Aylmer for 
you before I die.” 

“ O, Launcelot, I never thought the king 
would have forgotten us like this I ’ sobbed the 
poor lady, fairly breaking down ; and Audrey 
joined in the outburst, for she, too, was as dis- 
appointed as any body, for there was no hope 


78 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

now of displaying herself in patches, and wear- 
ing the old family finery. 

After a little while Mrs. Aylmer recovered 
somewhat from her emotion, and then Launce- 
lot had to tell her that he must go to a tailor’s 
and buy a cloth doublet suitable to his changed 
condition. He made light of this part of the 
trial for his mother’s sake ; and the next morn- 
ing, when he put it on, he took care not to give 
them time to examine it, but, upon the plea 
of reaching the Navy Office in time to join Mr. 
Pepys before he started for Deptford, he left 
home very early. 


Work. 


79 


CHAPTER VI. 

WORK. 

N ever had a day passed more quickly or 
pleasantly to Launcelot than his first day 
as a clerk of the Navy Office. Mr. Pepys, who 
lived next door to Sir William Penn in Seeth- 
ing Lane, had spent the previous evening with 
his neighbor, discussing the question of his 
son’s removal from Oxford to Cambridge ; for 
young William had greatly angered his father 
by espousing the cause of the Quakers in Ox- 
ford, and some months previously he had con- 
sulted Mr. Pepys about this, asking him to 
recommend a college and a tutor in Cambridge 
away from Quaker influence, which was the 
worst disgrace that could befall a young man 
anywhere, and meant nothing less than ruin to 
the son of the comptroller of the navy. 

After talking of young William, Launcelot’s 
name was mentioned, and Mr. Pepys related 
what had taken place at the office that day, 
bespeaking for his new clerk the kindly consid- 
eration of Sir William, who would often be 


8o At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

brought into contact with him. They both 
agreed that it was noble and praiseworthy of 
the young man to resolve to work for his 
mother and sisters; and, though they were both 
of one mind in their determination to make the 
naval department as efficient as possible, and 
to do this every body in it must work, still 
they could both render this less irksome, and, 
by treating Launcelot with the courtesy due to 
a gentleman, take half the sting from it. 

And this they had done. The bluff sailor, 
Sir William Penn, was by no means a polished 
courtier, and at first Launcelot shrunk from 
him and his hearty laugh and rather coarse 
jokes; but he soon perceived that he treated 
Mr. Pepys and the captains of the ships with 
just as much freedom, that it was his usual 
manner of treating friends and equals, and 
therefore he could not complain. Mr. Pepys, 
who was more used to polished society than 
his sailor friend, treated him with every court- 
esy and consideration, invited him to dine 
with them, when for the first time for many 
months Launcelot had a really good dinner; 
and when he gave him directions to examine 
certain things, and take down in his pocket- 
book various items of information connected 
with the business they had come upon, he did 


IVorL 


it in such a manner that the most sensitive 
man could not have felt hurt, and the work 
thus done lent an added exhilaration to the 
day. 

When he parted with Mr. Pepys, on Tower 
Hill, and turned to walk home through the 
city, he was as cheerful and buoyant as though 
he had just returned from a delightful holi- 
day ; but before he reached home these feel- 
ings began to change. The city apprentices 
sharpening their small wits at his expense, the 
elbowing and pushing of the people along the 
narrow roadway, the invitations to buy hot 
tripe and sheep’s feet, all reminded him most 
painfully that he was only one of the common 
crowd now, and not a privileged individual of 
a superior class ; and the bitter hatred, forgot- 
ten for a time, returned, like an evil bird, to 
brood in his heart. His mother’s reception 
of him at home, too, was not likely to lessen 
this. The downfall of their long-cherished 
hopes was very bitter to poor Mrs. Aylmer, 
and the idea that her idolized son had to work 
for their daily bread had well nigh broken her 
heart. All day she had pictured him as suffer- 
ing the gibes and jeers of an ignorant set of 
men — Puritans, of course — who would delight 
in making a Royalist feel their power ; and so, 
6 


82 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

as Launcelot entered the sitting-room, his 
mother threw herself into his arms, exclaim- 
ing, O, my son, my son ! ’’ and then burst 
into a passionate flood of tears. 

''What is it, mother? Audrey, what has 
happened?’' asked Launcelot, as he seated his 
mother in a high-backed chair, and turned to 
look round at his sister. 

But Audrey only shook her head and wiped 
her eyes. " I don’t know,” she said, after a 
minute’s pause, " only every thing is so miser- 
able.” 

" Is Bessie worse?” asked her brother. 

" No, no ; it isn’t Bessie, but you, my son, I 
have been thinking of all day,” said Mrs. Ayl- 
mer, trying to ov^ercome her emotion. 

" Then, mother, don’t think about me again,” 
said Launcelot, a little sharply. '‘ I have had 
a very pleasant day with Mr. Pepys and Sir 
William Penn — quite a holiday, in fact ; ” and 
then he went on to narrate some of the inci- 
dents of his visit to Deptford and Greenwich, 
and their long walk to Woolwich, and how the 
captain of one of the ships had told them that 
Negroes turn white if they are drowned. 

But to hear that Launcelot had spent a pleas- 
ant day, when acting as a working clerk, wa ; 
altogether inconceivable to Mrs. Aylmer, and 


Work. 


83 


she said, rather reproachfully I am sur- 
prised, Launcelot, that you should take any 
pleasure in such vulgar stories, and going 
over dirty ships. If you are obliged to 
accept this appointment for a time, I hope 
you will not soon forget that you are an Ayl- 
mer.” 

“Why should you be vexed, mother, be- 
cause I find the work less irksome than I ex- 
pected?” said Launcelot. 

“ Because I never thought a son of mine 
would sink to the level of such work,” said 
Mrs. Aylmer, loftily. 

Launcelot looked annoyed. “ What can I 
do ? ” he said. “ The king has offered me this, 
and I must take it or starve. Why should it 
be more degrading to work — ” 

“Yes; it is that — the work,” interrupted 
Audrey ; “ why couldn’t the king have given 
you an appointment where you could tell 
others what to do, or have clerks who knew 
how to do the work necessary to be done with- 
out being told ? ” 

It was clear that Audrey had been enlarging 
upon this grievance to her mother all day, that 
the two had spent the time making themselves 
miserable over it, and Launcelot wondered 
whether they had made Bessie a sharer in 


84 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

their dismal forebodings. Leaving his mother 
without any further discussion of the sub- 
ject, he crossed the room and opened Bes- 
sie’s door, very gently, for fear she should be 
asleep. 

“ Ah, I heard you,’’ she said, meeting him 
with a pleasant smile ; and now I want you 
to tell me about every thing. Audrey has 
been very unhappy about you all day because 
you had to work, you know.” 

“And haven’t you been unhappy, too?” 
asked her brother, as he took his accustomed 
seat on the edge of the bed. 

“ Well, no, I don’t think so ; for when you 
told me about it last night I thought it was 
just the work God wanted you to do— the very 
best, you know, that he could have given you 
— or else he would certainly have let us go 
home to Aylmer again.” 

“ And we will go to Aylmer again, Bessie, 
never fear. This work will only be for a little 
while ; but I must do my best at it while it 
lasts, and then, when I see the king and can 
clear up all this mystery, he will doubtless 
hear that I served him faithfully as a clerk in 
the Navy Office, and may give me something 
better, as well as restoring Aylmer Court to 
my mother.” 


Work, 85 

And is the work very hard ? ” asked Bes- 
sie, in an anxious tone. 

‘‘ It has not been at all difficult or disagree- 
able to-day,” said Launcelot. ‘‘ I went with 
Sir William Penn and Mr. Pepys to Deptford, 
Greenwich, and Woolwich.” 

O, how delightful ! What a pity Audrey 
did not go with you to wash her face in May- 
dew at Deptford ; it is the best cure for 
pimples on the face, and makes the com- 
plexion so clear ! Did you think to wash 
your face, Launce ? ” asked Bessie, with a 
roguish smile. 

“ Not in May-dew,” answered her brother, 
laughing ; ‘‘ the grass and hedges were all dry 
when I saw them ; ” and then he related once 
more the story of his day’s adventures. 

“ O, Launce, it must be delightful to be a 
clerk — better than going to court, I should 
think ! ” exclaimed Bessie. 

“ Well, I almost thought the same once or 
twice to-day ; for there is a pleasant feeling 
in the thought that what you are doing is 
really useful. Now I can think that the lit- 
tle things I looked into and noted down 
to-day will help to make our brave sailors 
more comfortable, and their lives more safe, 
which is certainly an improvement on daw- 


86 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 


dling the hours away, trying to say some- 
thing witty, and being laughed at for your 
pains/' 

Bessie feebly clapped her hands at this 
speech. ‘‘ O, Launce, it's just what I have 
been thinking/' she exclaimed. ‘‘ As I lay 
here to-day I tried to think of you doing 
something really useful for the navy. You 
know father used to say that England ought 
to have the finest navy in the world ; and I 
felt proud to think you would do your best to 
build it up." 

“ Well, that’s just Mr. Pepys aim, as he told 
me to-day ; and, of course, as he said, his 
clerks must carry it out, if it is to be done. 
But, Bessie, he told me to-day of a man who 
has done more than any other — more than we 
can possibly do for England’s navy. He gave 
up all the emoluments of his office as treas- 
urer, which amounted to ;^30,ooo a year, 
merely stipulating that £ 2^000 should be paid 
to his deputy. Sir William Penn knew him 
well, and I hardly know whether to be angry 
with him or the king's advisers, when I heard 
them talking about him to-day ; for he has 
just been sentenced to be hung, drawn, and 
quartered at Tyburn." 

O, Launce, how dreadful ! Was he a 


Work. 87 

Roundhead — a friend of Cromwell ? '' asked 
Bessie. 

He was a Roundhead ; but he separated 
himself from Cromwell when he turned out 
the Parliament, for he called himself a Fifth 
Monarchy man, which, as far as I can under- 
stand, is the maddest of all the Roundhead 
plans, for these professed to believe that the 
Lord Jesus Christ was coming to reign in this 
world, and govern its affairs, of course, by 
means of the saints — these self-same Round- 
heads.” 

Bessie opened her eyes very widely. “ What 
was this man’s name?” she said. 

“ I hardly like to tell you, dear ; for we 
knew him once — at least father did — and his 
father and ours have often sat in counsel to- 
gether ; for old Sir Harry Vane was a great 
friend of our martyr king, and for his sake I 
should have thought they might have spared 
his son, young Sir Harry Vane.” 

I have heard my father talk of the Vanes, 
I think. But can nothing be done for him, 
Launce? Surely he cannot be a bad man, or 
he would never have done what you say for 
the navy, giving up the wealth that most men 
crave ? ” 

“ He was a striking contrast to some of 


88 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

those in power now, who, not content with 
their lawful fees, sell all the appointments pos- 
sible to enrich themselves still more,’' said 
Launcelot, bitterly. 

What a pity this Sir Harry Vane was not 
a Royalist ! He might have been at the navy 
now. But how is it he is to be hung ? I 
thought the king had granted a general par- 
don to all who had been in rebellion, except 
those who had actually caused our martyr king 
to be beheaded ? Is this Vane one of those 
dreadful regicides.^” 

“ No ; he had no hand in the murder of 
King Charles, and he has meddled very little 
in state affairs since his quarrel with Crom- 
well, but lived quietly with his family at Raby 
Castle, trusting for safety to the general am- 
nesty proclaimed to all. But it seems that, 
although he and his friends never knew it, 
there was a secret exception made in his case, 
and soon after the king returned he was 
seized and taken to the Tower ; but the king 
had to promise Parliament that his life should 
be spared.” 

Then how say you he is to be hung at Ty- 
burn?” interrupted Bessie, quickly. 

'' Because there was a riot of these same 
Fifth Monarchy men last January, and—” 


Work, 89 

But if Sir Harry Vane was in prison, he 
could not have caused it ?** put in Bessie. 

‘‘ That’s just Sir William Penn’s argument,” 
said Launcelot. ‘‘ He hates Fifth Monarchy 
men, Quakers, and all sectaries ; but he de- 
clares Sir Harry Vane is a right noble En- 
glishman, in spite of his being a precisian, and 
it sets men’s tongues wagging against the king. 
Sir William Penn says men are grumbling that 
the king all along intended the death of Vane, 
and, though restrained by Parliament for a 
time, has seized the first excuse he could to 
put him out of the way.” 

But is it really so ? Do you think it can 
be?” asked Bessie, who had been brought up 
to regard it almost a sin to think the king 
could do wrong. 

I don’t know what to think,” said her 
brother. “ Sometimes I wish I did not think 
at all; I would not bate my loyalty to the 
king because some evil-disposed man has 
turned his heart from us, and yet — There, 
Bessie,” he suddenly broke off, ‘‘ we will not 
talk longer of things we cannot understand; 
I ought not to have told you about this Vane 
business. Now tell me how you are to-day — 
do you feel any better ? ” 

I don’t feel any thing, Launce — that is so 


90 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

strange ; and I don’t want to get up, or move 
my feet at all,” said Bessie. 

“ We will have another chirurgeon to see 
you ; perhaps this one does not understand 
your case.” 

He understands just how I feel,” said Bes- 
sie ; ‘‘ and he is so kind that I think we had 
better wait a little longer. But if I could be 
carried in and laid on the bench by the win- 
dow in the next room, I should like that. It 
is dull here sometimes.” 

Her brother looked round the close little 
room, with its tiny window that barely admit- 
ted daylight. I wonder we had not thought 
of that before,” he said ; “ but, feeling sure 
you would not be here long, we forgot to 
make the best of things. I’ll go and talk to 
mother about it now; I should think a bed 
might be made up on the bench in the win- 
dow, and then you could see all the boats and 
barges on the river.” 

‘‘ And I could feel as though I was going to 
Deptford or Greenwich in them,” laughed Bes- 
sie. I am glad something is settled, and we 
need not wait any longer ; are not you, 
Launce ? ” 

'' Settled ? I don’t know what you mean, 
Bessie,” said her brother. 


Work, 


91 


Well, we sha’n’t be waiting to go to Ayl- 
mer Court now ; and so we can begin to make 
things comfortable here, and — and begin our 
search, you know, Launce. I understand 
more about it now, I think, than I did. The 
holy Light that old man talked about is the 
Spirit of God in man, that shineth more and 
more unto the perfect day, if we will but clear 
away the rubbish and dirt of folly and sin, 
selfishness and worldliness, that buries and 
stifles the holy Light God has given us.’^ 

“ Who has been talking to you about these 
things ? ” demanded her brother, sharply. 
‘‘ You’re not going to die, Bessie he said, in 
an eager, alarmed whisper. 

‘‘ O, no, I hope not ; what makes you think 
I shall?” asked Bessie. 

“ Because — because — I don’t like to hear 
you talk like this, Bessie. It makes me think 
— but there, tell me why you think about such 
things, dear. It was all very well for that old 
man in Flanders, he couldn’t live long ; and 
as for worldliness — well, the world had never 
done much for him, I should say. If you were 
old now — ” 

“ What ! keep God waiting until I am an 
old woman?” said Bessie, quickly. 

Launcelot looked uncomfortable. 


At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

“ You talk very strangely for a young girl. 
I do not understand what could have put such 
ideas into your head just now.” 

“ Why, you know, we agreed that we would 
think about this as. soon as we got to En- 
gland ; but I am afraid I should have forgot- 
ten all about it if it had not been for this ac- 
cident in the church. Since then it has all 
come back to my mind, and talking with Mary 
has helped me to understand things better.” 

“ Who is Mary ? ” demanded Launcelot, 
sharply. He felt angry that his sister had 
been disturbed, as he called it, but in reality 
it was because his conscience was whispering 
that Bessie was right, and he did not choose 
to listen to its voice. 

“ What makes you speak like that, Launce ?” 
said Bessie, in a hurt tone. “ Mary has 
brought me some more flowers to-day, and 
sat with me nearly an hour ; and I thought 
you would be glad to know I had such a kind 
friend. Mother told you all about her when 
she came before.” 

“You mean this Puritan pastor’s daughter, 

I suppose ? I wonder mother suffers her to 
come here teaching you to be a Ranter, or a 
Quaker, or some other kind of sectary ! ” said 
Launcelot, still in the same cross tone. 


Work. 


93 


Bessie could scarcely restrain her tears. 

Why are you so unkind about this ? she 
said. I am sure Mary would teach me no 
harm ; and as for being a Puritan, her father is 
one of the king’s chaplains, I believe, as well 
as Mr. Baxter, so that you may be sure she is 
not a Quaker.” 

“ It don’t matter much what she calls her- 
self ; she has set you fretting over what no 
young girl troubles her head about, and I don’t 
like it. There, don’t cry, Bessie ; we wont 
quarrel over it. I will go and talk to mother 
about moving you to the other room, before I 
go out to-morrow.” 

Mrs. Aylmer was quite willing that they 
should move Bessie every day to the larger 
room, when the doctor gave them permission ; 
but he had left such strict injunctions that she 
should be kept quite still, that until he gave 
them leave to move her, she thought it would 
be dangerous to attempt it. Of course, she 
knew nothing of what the doctor had told 
Launcelot of the hopelessness of Bessie’s case, 
and he did not feel equal to the task of telling 
her to-night ; so Bessie was easily persuaded to 
wait until the doctor’s next visit, that his opin- 
ion might be asked upon the matter. 


94 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 


CHAPTER VIL 
Mary's home. 

HE slant rays of the setting sun came 



A through the diamond-paned lattice of a 
pleasant sitting-room — pleasant in spite of its 
stiff high-backed chairs, the polished oak 
floor, and the russet tints of the arras on the 
walls ; for this general somberness was lighted 
up by the wide bay-window, the floor of which 
was raised a step above the other portion of 
the room; and in this embrasure there was a 
lady's work-table, while about the room were 
disposed several bunches of flowers in quaint 
vases — not rare or costly flowers by any 
means, but such as could be bought in the 
London herb market for a penny a bunch. 
Had they been more costly, Mary Maitland 
could not have decked her ‘‘ fair summer par- 
lor," as she called this room ; for every penny 
had to be counted in this household, or they 
could not have helped their poorer neighbors 
as they did. Launcelot Aylmer would have 
called the curate’s income a mere pittance, for 


95 


Mary s Home. 

it was little more than what he was to receive 
at the Navy Office ; but Herbert Maitland was 
content, and more than content, with it, for he 
craved no luxury beyond that of being able to 
help the poor of his flock, and by dint of care- 
ful management he was able to do this ; and 
there was not a happier family in London than 
the Maitlands, despite the small economies 
they were obliged to practice. 

But this evening Mr. Maitland sat, resting 
after his day’s toil, with an unwonted look of 
anxiety on his usually placid face. His black 
silk skull-cap was pushed awry, and, as Mary 
came in with some needle-work in her hand, a 
deep sigh from her father at once attracted 
her notice. 

What is the trouble, my father?” she 
asked, laying aside her work, and kneeling at 
her father’s feet. She leaned her head against 
his shoulder, and passed her fingers caressingly 
over the delicate white hands that rested on 
his knees — a mixture of the dutiful reverence 
of the daughter and loving solicitude of the 
mother in her attitude. 

What is it, my father? ” she repeated. 

My child, the times are out of joint, and I 
am growing old,” said the minister. 

‘‘ Nay, nay ; you are tired, and the quartan 


96 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

ague hath not quite left you. I will go and 
prepare a lamb’s-wool posset for your supper ; 
and Mary rose instantly from her knees and 
went to the kitchen, despite her father’s prot- 
estations that he needed no lamb’s-wool to- 
night. In a short time she returned with a 
small bowl of steaming spiced ale, with a crab- 
apple floating at the top — the lamb’s-wool 
posset — and some toasted bread, which she 
insisted her father should take, while she 
showed him how cleverly she had contrived to 
cut out a pair of hose for one of the boys from 
the remains of a green baize table-cover. 
These little domestic contrivances never failed 
to give her father pleasure in the usual way ; 
but to-day he only glanced at her handiwork 
and said, with a sigh : 

“You are like your mother, Mary; but now 
I must tell you about this business concerning 
Sir Harry Vane.” 

“ His life is to be spared, is it not, father? 
You always said it would be, you know.” 

“ I spoke witlessly. Men hoped great things 
from King Charles, hoping he had learned wis- 
dom from adversity ; but I fear me his race 
never learn and never forget.” 

“ But about Sir Harry Vane — surely such a 
cruel sentence will not be carried out ? ’’ said 


Mary s Home* 


97 


Mary. When Mr. Baxter was here yester- 
day, he said, although he could not hold with 
Sir Harry in his religious fantasies, he was one 
of the noblest Englishmen who had ever served 
the state, and it would be a blot on the king’s 
reign if his sentence was executed.” 

‘‘ Well, well, there has been some modifica- 
tion granted as to the manner of his death ; 
but that is the utmost grace that the king will 
grant. He is to be beheaded on Tower Hill, 
as becomes his degree, instead of being hung 
at Tyburn like the meanest criminal,” said Mr. 
Maitland, sadly. He had always sympathized 
with Vane in his aspirations after religious lib- 
erty, which had sometimes brought upon him 
the censure of his brethren, whose creed was 
elastic enough to allow everyone to think as 
they did ; but beyond this point it was heresy, 
and Quakers and Vaneists were heretics whom 
they must needs drive back to the fold since 
they would not follow at the call of the ap- 
pointed shepherds. Let us be just to these 
Puritan persecutors, who for the last few years 
had been beating, imprisoning, and transport- 
ing Quakers by hundreds. They believed 
they were doing God service, and it was 
‘‘strange work” to them — a pain and bitter- 
ness that wrung their souls even while they did 
1 


98 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

it ; but, with their stern creed, they would have 
thought themselves weak and unworthy of 
their position as ministers of the truth, had 
they listened to the voice of pity, either in 
themselves or others, and shrunk from inflict- 
ing pain which might prove efficacious in sav- 
ing the souls of their victims from the pains of 
hell hereafter. 

Persecution had not gone to this length 
with Mr. Maitland. It was rather like what 
we call drawing-room persecution that he had 
to endure from his brethren, but it was none 
the less hard to bear sometimes. He was not 
exactly a heretic, for he had never fully identi- 
fied himself with the Vaneists; but he was 
labeled '' unsound,” and his brethren gave him 
the cold shoulder, and he was kept in the 
background as much as possible. Every body 
conceded that he was a good and useful man 
— very useful as a hard-worked curate in this 
poor parish ; but his talents might prove dan- 
gerous if they were recognized and allowed 
free scope ; and so, for his own sake, it was 
tacitly agreed that no Church preferment 
should come his way. 

Mr. Maitland had been content to labor 
with this slight recognition of his worth; but 
now that he had been trying to arouse his 


99 


Mary s Home. 

brethren to make some protest against the 
legalized murder of Sir Harry Vane, he felt 
hurt, almost outraged, at the scant civility 
with which his proposals had been received. 
It seemed to him that they more than half 
acquiesced in the unjust sentence because of 
Sir Harry’s liberal views; and he had been be- 
trayed into speaking words that he now feared 
would prove but too true, and his own share in 
the misfortune would be heavy indeed. 

After talking about Sir Harry Vane for some 
little time, Mr. Maitland picked up the green 
baize stocking Mary was making, and said : It 
is well you learned thriftiness of your mother, 
Mary, for we have need to practice it now.” 

Mary glanced at her father as he said this. 

There is some other trouble, then, besides 
this of Sir Harry Vane? ” she said, quickly. 

“ Have you not heard, Mary, of this new 
Act of Uniformity that is to be enforced on all 
ministers?” asked her father. 

Mary nodded. She had heard all about it ; 
but knowing, too, that her father was not 
in all points at one with his fellow-ministers, 
she had half hoped that he would conform to 
the requirements of the Act. If he did not, 
she scarcely knew what the penalties might 
be, and she said so. 


loo At the Sign of the Blue Boar 

“ Then, my dear, I must tell you, that you 
may prepare, as far as in you lies, and suffer 
no waste in the household. Many hope that 
this Act will not be so rigidly enforced as is 
threatened ; but, as I said to one and another 
to-day, How can we pray for liberty of con- 
science for ourselves — the right to serve God 
after our own heart’s desire — if we grant not 
the same liberty to others who differ from us? 
And I fear me the king will enforce it, and we 
shall be forced to leave this fair summer par- 
lor and our goodly heritage here.” 

But where shall we go?” asked Mary, in a 
tone of dismay. She had never glanced at 
this aspect of the question. It would be pain 
and grief enough to her father to have to give 
up ministering to his flock, and the thought of 
this had occupied Mary’s mind, to the total 
exclusion of the more material part of the 
question as it affected herself and the children. 

Where shall we go? what shall we do, my 
father? ” she asked again. 

Have you no other Father than me, my 
Mary? ’’said the minister, solemnly but ten- 
derly, stroking the soft chestnut hair. 

Mary colored and looked down, But the 
children, father?” she said, in a whisper. 

He is their Father, too. and will provide 


Mary s Home, 


lOI 


for them as well as the young ravens. Can- 
not you trust your little sorrows to Almighty 
care?’' he whispered. 

Mary’s tears were falling freely now. ‘‘ O ! 
father, forgive me ; I will try to bear it and 
help you ; but just at first — ” and then chok- 
ing sobs stopped her further utterance. 

“ I know, I know, my Mary ; and, better 
still, Jesus knows your troubles, too, for he was 
in like case, and knew not where to lay his 
head ; so we may safely take our troubles to 
him.” 

“ And — and when shall we have to leave this 
house, my father?” asked Mary, falteringly. 
It was the only home she remembered — dear 
to her as the memory of the mother which 
hallowed it to all of them — and the thought of 
leaving it made her heart faint with dismay at 
first. 

‘‘ My Mary, you must be braver than this,” 
whispered her father, while he tried to soothe 
her grief, 

“ But — but is there no escape, my father ? 
Is it quite impossible that we can stay here ? ” 
asked Mary. 

Her father put her from him for a moment, 
and covered his face with his hands. Pres- 
ently he looked at her again, and a spasm of 


102 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

pain crossed his face. I never thought there 
could be any question as to what was my duty 
in this matter/' he said ; but I see now I am 
trespassing upon your right, even in this, my 
Mary ; for you must bear the penalty of my 
action, and why should you not have some 
choice in the matter? You are not a child 
now, although you are my daughter, and, 
therefore, you have the right to that liberty of 
judgment Sir Harry Vane and I have always 
contended for." 

“ Nay, nay, my father ; you must choose for 
me in this matter. I am but a witless, frac- 
tious maiden/’ said Mary, quickly. 

My Mary, you are a woman of judgment 
in most things, and for me to take this in hand 
without regard to your thoughts upon the 
matter will be to break the law I would fain 
uphold — the right of liberty of conscience for 
all. As you know, many of my flock still 
prefer the old way of worship, with the help 
of a prayer book ; and to them I have said, 

‘ Use the book an it help you to lift your heart 
to God. Why should a man lie still on the 
ground when there are crutches to help him 
to walk?' and I have ministered to these from 
the prayer book. But when 'tis said to me, 

‘ You must always walk with these same 


103 


Mary s Home. 

crutches/ I say, ‘ Nay, nay ; these are no helps, 
but hinderances to me in my walk with God, 
and I will none of them ; ' and even were I 
free to impose them upon myself, there are 
those in my flock to whom they would be 
chains and fetters. I would you should con- 
sider this, my Mary. Understand, I say not 
aught in despite of the prayer book, save that 
it should not be imposed upon all ; but I had 
no thought of subscribing this Act of Uni- 
formity, because it seeks to bring men’s souls 
into bondage. But — but — I’ll say no more, 
my Mary ; think over what I have said, and — ” 

“ My father, I will do as you wish,” said 
Mary, quickly. 

“ But that is not what I wish/’ said her fa- 
ther. ‘‘ I would that you should think over 
what I have said, and weigh the cost of the 
thing we contend for. Men have struggled 
and died before now for religious freedom, and 
we had fain hoped the fight was well-nigh 
over. But Puritan and Papist alike have to 
be taught by God’s sore judgments; for once 
they either get the upper hand, they deny to 
their brethren that liberty to serve God ac- 
cording to their own conscience they claim for 
themselves. I much doubt whether this per- 
secution of the people called Quakers is as 


104 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

pleasing to God as we have supposed ; and if 
we, too, are made to taste the bitter-sweet of 
persecution, we can but lay our mouth in the 
dust and say, ' Lord, thou art just.’ ” 

“ But, my father, you have never persecuted 
the Vaneists or Quakers,” said Mary, but 
often spoken a word on their behalf ; where- 
fore, then, should you suffer this persecution ?” 

“ Am I not of those who have often taken 
part in the persecution of these defenseless 
people?” said Mr. Maitland. 

“ Doth God only deal with men in crowds, 
then ?” asked the girl, somewhat bitterly. 

Mary, Mary ! you will make this trial bit- 
ter indeed, an you take it in this spirit,” said 
her father. God dealeth with nations and 
communities as such, chastising the sin that 
is national and general ; but this hinders not 
his giving to each individual the help he 
needs. The bitter-sweet of persecution may 
be given to many ; but he can teach each soul 
what to extract from it for its due nourish- 
ment — the bitter or the sweet ; for man doth 
not live by bread alone, but by the invisible 
word that proceedeth out of the mouth of 
God.” 

Mary could not reply, but sat silently weep- 
ing for a minute or two, and then went out of 


Mary s Home. 


105 

the room, for she did not want to distress her 
father by her own faithless forebodings. How 
could she help being anxious and troubled 
when she thought of the children ? And now 
her father had made her duty harder still by 
putting the choice in some sort into her own 
hands ; for she knew that the question of sub- 
mitting to this Act of Uniformity would not 
be decided without reference to her. As she 
laid aside the baize stocking she was making, 
she wondered what she could do to help to 
support the family ; for, expelled from house 
and home, as she feared they would be, some- 
thing must be done to provide for their every- 
day wants ; for she remembered another lesson 
she had also learned from her father, that God 
works by means ; and to sit down helpless 
and expect that God would rain manna here in 
London, where there is work to be done and 
bread won by work, is as faithless as to forget 
God entirely. 

Now the question was, What work could 
Mary do ? and she sat, troubled and anxious, 
thinking over this, and calling herself many 
hard names because she could not lay aside 
the care that oppressed her, forgetting that 
this practical, energetic mind of hers was a 
gift from God, and the fitting complement and 


io6 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

balance of her father’s calm, restful trust and 
brave determination to dare all in the cause 
of religious liberty, in spite of consequences. 
It was natural, perhaps, that these more ordi- 
nary gifts should be overlooked by both father 
and daughter — that they should fail to see that 
this, too, was of God, and, failing to recognize 
it, should grieve over it. At all events, it 
was a source of pain to both to-night ; and, 
to escape from these troubled thoughts, Mary 
at length went down to the children’s room, 
where their merry chatter would be sure to 
dispel all gloomy thoughts. 

She likewise had another object in doing 
this, for, in view of what was likely to happen, 
it was clearly her duty to lessen the household 
expenditure at once ; and some months pre- 
viously they had taken a young lady into the 
house, to teach the children and be a compan- 
ion to herself. It is true the salary paid her 
was but small, for she had been glad to come 
for the sake of a comfortable home ; but even 
this would soon be beyond their means, and 
she must tell Mistress Stanley at once of what 
was likely to take place, that she might inquire 
for another situation. But, to her surprise, 
the girl only shook her head when she told 
her she must leave them shortly. “ No, no,” 


10 / 


Mary s Home, 

she said ; I was an orphan and friendless 
when your father brought me home and treat- 
ed me as a daughter, and now that I may be 
able to help you I will not go away/' 

But, my dear Rosalind, you do not under- 
stand you have helped — you do help me, and 
I shall miss you sorely, but — but — 

And I can help you more,’' interrupted 
the young governess. “ Pardon the question, 
Mary, but what are you going to do when 
your father has to give up this pleasant par- 
sonage ?" 

Mary shook her head. I have been try- 
ing to think of something," she said, sadly. 

Couldn’t you learn to make lace ? I could 
teach you," said Rosalind, a little timidly. 

“ Lace ! " uttered Mary, in surprise, and 
with a touch of scorn in her tone. As a Pu- 
ritan she had been brought up to look upon 
this handicraft as savoring too much of the 
pomps and vanities of the world to be other 
than an invention of Satan ; and, knowing 
this, Rosalind had carefully concealed her 
lace-making, which, nevertheless, she had car- 
ried on in the privacy of her own chamber ; 
for the fine intricate work was a delight to 
her rather than a toil. 

I know you never wear lace,^’ said Rosa- 


io8 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

lind ; '' but many of our citizens and their 
wives do, now it is so fashionable ; and I have 
been making some lately, thinking I might be 
glad of the money some day, and — and I 
thought we might both make it, and earn some 
money when we have to go away from here/* 
added Rosalind, timidly. 

Mary had not spoken a word since her 
scornful exclamation, but she was deeply 
touched by this proof of Rosalind’s devotion, 
and, kissing her, she said, You shall show me 
this lace, dear, and we will see what can be 
done with it ; but she had no intention of 
learning lace-making herself. It was a great 
concession even to discuss such a matter oth- 
erwise than to denounce it ; and Mary was in 
some doubt whether she was right in yielding 
so far even as this. 


Bursting the Fetters. 


109 


CHAPTER VIII. 

BURSTING THE FETTERS. 

1\T t)W, Mary, don’t you think you could 
learn to do it?’’ and Rosalind looked 
up from her lace pillow ; but her fingers were 
still busy with the bobbins. 

The girls were by themselves in Rosalind’s 
own room now, for she had never ventured to 
bring her lace pillow out, for the children or 
even Mary to see her at work, until now ; but 
in the early spring mornings she had been up 
at daylight, that she might have a little time 
to give to her beloved work — working for the 
delight of doing so, more than any thing else. 
Mary looked down at the flying fingers with 
a sort of fascination, as she said, slowly, I 
wonder whether I ought to try and learn ?” 

O, I wish you would ! ” said Rosalind. 
“ If you would learn to do the web on the 
pillow, I could work the pattern with my 
needle. I learned in Flanders, you know, 
where all the best lace is made, and I have 
some very good patterns. This lace is worth 


no At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

five crowns a yard when it is finished,” added 
the girl. 

“ Five crowns ! repeated Mary ; and do 
you think we could sell it ? ” 

O yes. Don’t you see, our citizens have 
taken to wear lace lately.” She would not say 
a word about the king and court, who had 
made it fashionable again, for fear of rousing 
Mary’s antagonism to the plan. 

Mary stood over the governess, watching 
her busy fingers as they plied the bobbins and 
shifted the pins, but it was scarcely with a view 
of learning the delicate art herself A far 
more difficult point had to be settled first, and 
before she could touch a bobbin a battle must 
be fought and won. Many such battles had 
her father fought, but to Mary the warfare was 
new. She had been carefully brought up 
Sheltered from the evil of the world, she had 
been taught that the pomps and shows of fine 
dress were part of this evil ; but she had not 
failed to notice, as Rosalind had reminded 
her, that many a good citizen, both men and 
women, had begun to wear lace lately ; and 
one good woman whom she knew had said to 
her, only the week before, she was glad lace 
was coming into fashion again — she had never 
left off wearing it herself — because it enabled 


Bursting the Fetters, 1 1 1 

her to help one or two poor women who were 
lace-makers. 

Mary had asked why she could not give 
them the money without having the lace, at 
which the lady had shaken her head, saying: 
“ My dear, it would hurt them to do that ; 
but it hurts nobody to wear a little lace, un- 
less they are full of foolish vanity, and then 
they would be the same without the lace.’' 

“ But is not lace one of the pomps of the 
world ?" said Mary, a little puzzled. 

If we make it so, it is," replied her friend. 

But your pretty, neat hood might be the 
same, if you indulge the pride and vanity of 
your heart in thinking about its neatness. If 
the pride and vanity are there, they had better 
show themselves in the outward man, that 
they may be checked and overcome. But if 
they be not there, the wearing of lace will not 
put them there ; so make your mind easy, 
Mary, about me and my bit of lace," said her 
old friend, laughing. 

Thinking over this again to-night made Mary 
any thing but easy. But for this incident, she 
might have put away the idea of lace-making 
as a temptation of Satan to draw her into the 
meshes of the world and its vanities, which 
she was bound to renounce ; but she loved 


1 12 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

and venerated her old friend, and she had 
spoken some warm words in defense of lace- 
making, saying, God had given women quick, 
handy fingers to help him in his work in beau- 
tifying the world, instead of strong arms of 
men, which were needful for its rougher 
tasks. 

Mary had felt inclined to look upon this as 
another of her friend’s heresies, in spite of her 
reverence, for she had heard her spoken of as 
a Vaneist ; but now, as she stood watching 
Rosalind’s flying fingers, the question came to 
her. If God had given these fingers their deft- 
ness and skill, surely he had intended that 
they should be used? Her father was so fre- 
quently saying that every gift of God should 
be used, and was given for use ; only, was the 
making of lace the right use, the use God 
would have them put to? 

It is a pain to burst the bonds of any nar- 
row creed, and though to us it may seem a 
light and trivial thing, this question of lace- 
making, to Mary Maitland, reared in all the 
stiffness and unbending formality of Pu- 
ritanism, it was a question of much anxious 
thought and prayer. She could not take her 
perplexity to her father, either; for as the 
days went on, and all his efforts to rouse his 


Bursting the Fetters, 


113 


friends to make another effort on behalf of Sir 
Harry Vane proved unavailing, he became more 
grieved and anxious, and Mary would not add 
to his trouble by laying her burden upon him. 

But during this time it became increasingly 
probable that they would have to leave their 
home and living in August, and that her father 
would not be allowed to undertake any thing, 
even a lectureship, if it were offered him, un- 
less he conformed to the use of the prayer 
book ; and if she could only reconcile her 
mind to learn this lace-making, she would 
cheerfully urge him to do what he could on 
behalf of religious liberty. 

She little thought that a similar struggle 
must be fought out in herself first — ah ! and 
the victory gained, too — before she could lend 
the help that was needful for her father to join 
the noble band of non-conforming ministers 
who would protest in the name of religious 
liberty. At length she paid a visit to her old 
friend, to talk the matter over; for although 
Mary did not profess to have made up her 
mind, she had so far broken through the nar- 
row prejudice of her education as to be anx- 
ious to discuss it as a possibility, should 
nothing else offer, by which she might earn 
something for their daily bread by and by. 

8 


1 14 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

O, my dear, my dear, I am glad ! said 
gentle Mrs. Hawkins, warmly, when Mary 
told her about the lace-making project. “ If 
this dreadful Act of Uniformity does such 
good work as this, I shall be able to thank 
God for it ungrudgingly. Of course I ought 
to do so, I know ; but I am a poor timid 
woman. And so many ministers like your 
father, Mary, have large families, but small 
means, that it has seemed it could only bring 
distress and woe ; but if it makes others like 
you burst through the grave-clothes of a 
narrow creed, and walk abroad in God’s beau- 
tiful world, I shall thank him for what looks 
so cruel now.” 

‘‘ Grave-clothes ! ” repeated Mary, in some 
astonishment. 

‘‘ My dear, it was little better. Doubtless it 
was done at first as a protest against levity and 
wanton attire ; but it came to be a narrowing, 
cramping, stifling creed at last, that would 
fain have made the grass gray and the sky 
drab, instead of green and blue, and looked 
upon the very flowers with suspicion, because 
God, who delights in beauty, has made them 
beautiful.” 

“ O, I always loved flowers, and so does my 
father,” said Mary, quickly. 


Bursting the Fetters. 1 1 5 

‘‘Your father is brave enough even to love 
our noble Sir Harry Vane/’ said the old lady, 
with a tremble in her voice ; “ but you were 
afraid of a bit of lace a little while ago — look- 
ing upon it as a device of Satan, I verily 
believe ? ” 

“ Yes, I did,” confesssed Mary ; “ but what 
you said about it, and what my father has 
said about using every gift of God, has — ” 

“ Has made you alter your opinion about 
it. And now you think you could make it, 
and sell it to vain old ladies like me, who always 
like the touch of soft fine lace, if it will help 
to lift the burden from your father’s shoulders. 
You are a brave girl, Mary. Not for making 
the lace — any deft fingers could do that, I 
fancy — but for conquering yourself, bursting 
the bondage of narrow forms and customs, 
and daring to think for yourself and do 
right, though all the world should be against 
you. 

Mary sighed. “ I don’t know what my 
father will say to the plan,” she said. 

“His first question will be, ‘ Mary, have you 
thought about this thing ? — do you think it 
right to make this fine lace?’ and if you can 
say truly, ‘ My father, I think God has shown 
us, by the way that he covers every rough 


ii6 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

and unseemly ruin with a beautiful drapery of 
leaves and flowers, that he would have our 
bodies covered with garments that are grace- 
ful and pleasing to the eye, as well as useful,’ 
he will not say nay to your plan. 1 say not 
aught about your desire to help your father 
to brave the world, and be true to himself and 
the noble truths he has always taught ; be- 
cause the first thing for you is to be fully 
persuaded in your own mind that the means 
by which you try to accomplish this is right 
in itself. You must win freedom for your own 
soul first, Mary ; for it would be a bitter 
bondage, and a cruel mockery, to undertake this 
in the name of religious liberty, not feeling that 
you were at liberty to do it, or with a half sus- 
picion that you were helping Satan to weave fet- 
ters for the world. Therefore, my dear, consider 
what I have said, but do not try to feel that 
you are bound to believe as I do. Let God’s 
own Spirit teach you ; and if liberty of soul is 
good for you, he will lead you into it. Some 
souls are feeble and maimed, and can only go 
limping in bandages and swaddling-clothes or 
grave-clothes — I scarcely know what to call 
them — only your father’s child should scarcely 
be one of those feeble folk. Mind, Mary, my 
ove, these are not to be despised ; and we must 


Bursting the Fetters, 1 1 7 

be careful how we use our God-given liberty, 
lest they should be offended ; for these are the 
‘ little ones ' of the flock, who must be borne 
with tenderly and patiently ; only we must 
not bind ourselves with the bonds that may be 
helpful to them, but will be fetters and hi.i- 
derances to us.” 

“That is just what my father said about 
using the prayer book — it might be helpful 
and useful to some, but not to all.” 

“Yes; and the same thing applies to all 
man-made ordinances; for if you will look 
closely, they are all the inventions of men- - 
prickly hedges built up round the fold — very 
useful when men have not learned that Christ 
is the door, but cramping and binding God’s 
beautiful world, when through that door we 
can go in and out, and find pasture and liberty 
for our souls. Now, my dear, I am not going 
to let you go back to the parsonage to-day. I 
am going to see my old friends, the Eve- 
lyns, at Saye Court, and you shall go with me 
by barge to Deptford; and the sight of the 
hedge-rows and meadows will help you a bit in 
the struggle ; for you are having a hard time 
of it, my dear, I can see.” 

Mary’s eyes had filled with tears at the 
words of sympathy spoken by her old friend. 


ii8 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

You seem to understand exactly how I feel 
about this,” she said. 

My dear, I have fought the fight, and so I 
know what the pain is. Mine is not over the 
making or wearing a bit of lace, but it came to 
the same thing — a man-made ordinance that I 
mistook for a command of God. Now, my 
dear, the maid shall go and tell your father 
you are spending the day with me, and we 
will put on our hoods and walk to Paul’s 
Wharf at once. All London is taking holiday, 
to show their joy at the landing of the new 
queen.” 

''Her coming will bring the Catholics into 
favor, my father fears,” said Mary, as she tied on 
her prim camlet hood that shaded but could not 
entirely hide the sweet, gracious face beneath. 

' May be it will, and may be it wont,” said 
little Mrs. Hawkins, in her soft, unruffled voice. 
" We take a deal of trouble in borrowing God’s 
care to lay upon our own shoulders, as though 
he had asked us to bear the care of the world, 
instead of inviting us to cast our care upon 
him. Look, my dear, these are some of the 
Portugal ladies, I expect, come over with the 
new queen — look, look, in that barge over 
there ! — why, they are trying to make the far- 
thingale fashionable again ! ” 


Bursting the Fetters, 1 19 

“ Did you ever wear a farthingale? asked 
Mary, curiously. 

‘‘No, no, my dear; nothing could ever 
make such a monstrous fashion as that beauti- 
ful. Now, don’t think, because I spoke about 
wearing lace as I did, that women should fol- 
low every whimsy of fashion ; for then our Pu- 
ritan protest would all be in vain. No, my 
dear ; dress neatly and becomingly, with a bit 
of lace or a bit of ribbon an it pleases you, but 
nothing to excess — nothing to call notice to 
you either for primness or fantastic finery. 
Now, my man,” she said, turning to one of the 
loungers, “ you may call a boat for us to go to 
Deptford.” 

As the boat they were in shot out from the 
shore Mary looked up at one of the overhang- 
ing windows close by, and saw a face that she 
recognized. 

“ There is Mistress Aylmer, the girl who was 
hurt at Saint Dunstan’s when Mr. Baxter was 
preaching there,” said Mary, quickly. “ I am 
so glad they have brought her out of that dull 
little room to sit at the window. What is she 
doing, I wonder ? I can see her fingers mov- 
ing. I do believe she is making lace, too ! ” 
exclaimed Mary. “ Why, every body is mak- 
ing it!” 


120 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

'' It is becoming so fashionable that we shall 
certainly need more lace-makers,’' remarked 
Mrs. Hawkins; '‘for I heard the other day 
that some of the court ladies wore it round the 
bottom of their petticoats.” 

“O! what shameful extravagance!” said 
Mary. “ But see how beautiful the fields 
look ! ” she exclaimed, for they were near the 
middle of the stream now, and the passing 
clouds were making moving pictures in the 
sunlight, across the soft green of the meadows 
that lined the opposite shore. 

It was not often that Mary had such a holi- 
day as this, and the old lady took care that she 
should enjoy it. All along the route there was 
something fresh to be seen, either in thegayly- 
decked boats and barges, or the hedge-rows 
and meadows along the banks ; for this water- 
way was the most convenient mode of reach- 
ing the fashionable country-houses at Deptford 
or Greenwich, and so there was plenty of com- 
pany going down with the tide this sweet May 
morning. 

" It will be too late to wash your face with 
May-dew, which is the best cure for pale and 
sickly cheeks ; but one thing is certain, you 
will be able to take home a goodly posy to 
deck your summer parlor, for the fields and 


Bursting the Fetters, 1 2 1 

gardens around Saye Court are not such as 
can be seen every day/' said Mrs. Hawkins, 
as they drew near the end of their journey. 
‘‘ My friend, Sir John Evelyn, takes great pride 
in his garden, and truly it is something to be 
proud of." 

And Mary found that her friend's account of 
the gardens was not exaggerated. Over a 
hundred acres were laid out in groves, walks, 
miniature inclosures, and wide, smooth lawns 
of carefully - clipped grass. There was an 
apiary, too, with glass hives, so that she 
could stand and watch the bees at work in 
the hive. 

O, how beautiful every thing is!" she 
said, as she gazed at the busy insects at their 
toil. 

The bees are not afraid of making their 
work beautiful as well as useful," said the old 
lady, with a smile. 

The rooms of the grand old manor-house 
were scarcely less wonderful to Mary than the 
gardens, for here were pictures of every de- 
scription, and a wonderful laboratory, where 
Sir John Evelyn practiced chemistry; and on 
every hand were tokens of the piety as well as 
wealth and learning of these kind friends ; for 
they were most kind to Mary, and welcomed 


122 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

her almost as warmly as they did Mrs Hawkins 
herself. 

It was a red-letter day in Mary’s life — a day 
of refreshment to body and soul ; and when 
she went back in the evening she felt stronger 
and better for this peep at God’s beautiful 
handiwork. 


Father and Daughter. 


123 


CHAPTER IX. 

FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 

1\ yTARY, I must go; the sight of a few 
iVX friendly faces in the crowd may help 
the poor gentleman, and our good friend, Mrs. 
Hawkins, would like to know how he bears 
himself, and how he is treated at the last. 
Not that we fear for him ; such a brave and 
Christian gentleman as Sir Harry Vane cannot 
do other than make a good end/' 

“ But, my father, there will be a crowd of 
the rough, rude men on Tower Hill," said 
Mary, and many may call you a Vaneist if — " 
“ There, there ; we will say no more about 
that," interrupted Mr. Maitland, who felt more 
than a little grieved that Mary had not spoken 
to him since about what she knew lay so near 
his heart — the protest that so many felt com- 
pelled to make just now, although it would 
cost them the giving up of all that life held 
dear. 

He had expected that Mary would come 
the next day, and say she was prepared to 


124 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

bear her share of the burden ; but here was 
the 14th of June, and not a word had been 
said since the talk they had had in May, and 
Mr. Maitland was sorely grieved at it. He 
looked upon it as a grievous want of faith in 
his daughter. True, the living had never en- 
abled him to lay aside a penny for such a con- 
tingency as this, but Mary had no right to 
allow such considerations to weigh with her. 
She ought to trust God implicitly, and believe 
that he would provide for them though all 
earthly help and means failed. 

He little knew what a struggle had been 
going on in the girl’s own heart all this time 
— that liberty had to be won for herself before 
she could protest for it on behalf of others ; 
and so her very natural fears for her father’s 
safety, when he proposed mingling with the 
rough crowd who would be sure to gather 
round the scaffold to witness the execution of 
Sir Harry Vane, was misunderstood, and taken 
as arising from her fears lest he should become 
identified with an unpopular cause. 

The thought that his Mary could not, or 
would not, identify herself with him in what 
he and so many of his fellow-ministers had de- 
cided they could not, in loyalty to their own 
conscience, conform to, troubled him sorely 


125 


Father and Daughter. 

He could not decide how far he was right 
in bringing such trouble upon her — as it inev- 
itably must fall as heavily upon her as himself, 
if she could not join with him heart and soul 
in this protest against the Act of Uniformity; 
and so it was with a sad and troubled heart, on 
more accounts than one, that he went to wit- 
ness this tragedy — the martyrdom of this bold 
champion of civil and religious liberty. Sir 
Harry Vane. 

He could do little to help the brave noble- 
man, however; for the crowd on Tower Hill 
was so great that he could not get near enough 
to the scaffold to hear a word of the long 
speech he had written, and insisted upon read- 
ing, in spite of the sheriff’s attempts to stop 
him ; but the brave fearless manner could not 
be mistaken. 

As Mr. Maitland turned sadly away he was 
overtaken by a friend who had managed to 
get close to the scaffold and hear the speech. 

He told them first of his life, that he was 
born a gentleman ; he had been, till he was 
seventeen, a good fellow, but then it pleased 
God to lay a foundation of grace ia his heart, 
by which he was persuaded, against his worldly 
interest, to leave all preferment and go abroad, 
where he might serve God with more freedom. 


126 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

Then he was called home, and made a mem- 
ber of the Long Parliament, where he never 
did any thing against his conscience, but all 
for the glory of God. Here he would have 
given them an account of the proceedings of 
the Long Parliament, but they so often inter- 
rupted him that at last he was forced to give 
over ; and so he fell into prayer for England 
in general, then for the churches in England, 
and then for the city of London, and so fitted 
himself for the block and received the blow. 
He changed not his color or speech to the 
last, but died justifying himself and the cause 
he had stood for, and spoke very confidently 
of being presently at the right hand of Christ.” 

This was the account of one who had but 
little sympathy for Sir Harry Vane's opinions ; 
but even the crowd of rough fellows who had 
thronged Tower Hill spoke of his courage as 
something wonderful ; and so with this for 
comfort the minister went to see Mrs. Hawkins. 

Meanwhile Mary had prepared a surprise 
for her father upon his return home. In her 
own particular nook of the parlor, which was 
the raised embrasure of the window, where she 
could see to read or work long after every 
other part of the room was in shadow, stood 
Rosalind's lace pillow ; and before it sat Mary, 


12 / 


Father and Daughter, 

twisting and twirling the bobbins, as deftly, 
if not as quickly, as Rosalind herself. It had 
not been so easy to learn this as Mary had 
imagined. It had been a trial of patience to 
her and Rosalind both ; but perseverance had 
conquered at last, and now she had begun a 
piece of web with the fine Flemish flax thread 
of which the best lace was made, instead of 
the common cotton thread which she had 
used while learning the delicate art. Mary 
felt positively exultant over her success as she 
looked at the inch or two of web slowly grow- 
ing under her fingers ; but her father had 
heard nothing of this lace-making project, and 
when he came into the room and saw his 
Mary sitting before a lace pillow, twirling 
those abominable bobbins, he was filled with 
consternation. 

‘‘Mary, Mary, what are you doing?” he 
exclaimed, looking at her in horror. 

“ Making lace, father,” said Mary, quietly ; 
“ did not Mrs. Hawkins tell you about it ? ” 
she asked. 

“ I believe she did say something about lace 
when I was leaving, but I paid little heed to 
her words, for I never thought a child of mine 
would want such vanities,” said the minister, 
rather severely. 


128 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

Mary laid aside the pillow, and stepped 
across the room to where her father was stand- 
ing. “ You are tired and sad, my father,'' she 
said ; we will not talk about the lace now. 
I will fetch you a horn of cider and a slice of 
cold beef." 

‘‘ Not just yet, Mary ; I am sad and sor- 
rowful, but eating and drinking will not rem- 
edy that ; " and as he spoke he cast his eyes 
toward the lace pillow again. 

“You do not think I am making that lace 
for myself, do you, father?" asked Mary. 

“ My girl, it is sorrow enough that you are 
making it," said the minister, reproachfully. 

Mary looked across at her pillow, and said, 
gently : “ How can I make you understand it, 
I wonder ? Father, it has been a great strug- 
gle ; I have wept, and prayed, and thought 
many an hour before I would consent to learn 
that lace-making ; but it was borne in upon 
me at last that I might learn — that I ought to 
learn it, and — " 

“ And deck yourself out in all the vain 
finery — " 

“ No, no, father, not for that," said Mary, 
quickly. She would not tell him now the 
main object she had in view when she first 
thought of this. “ It is not for myself that I 


Father and Daughter. 


129 


am making it, Perhaps when I am as old as 
Mrs. Hawkins I may like a bit of soft lace, but 
not just now. But you have taught me, my 
father, that the skill of our fingers is God's 
gift to us, and when I went to Saye Court, 
about a month ago, I could not but marvel 
how beautiful God’s works were.” 

Yes, yes,” interrupted the minister, rather 
impatiently ; God’s works are beautiful, but 
that has nothing to do with us.” 

‘‘ But if God loves beautiful things, may not 
we love them also ? ” 

Certainly — the beautiful things God has 
made.” 

But then why may we not use the skill of 
our fingers to make other things beautiful ? 
Are things any better for being ugly?” asked 
Mary. 

Her father evaded the question. Lace is 
to deck this sinful body,” he said ; and what 
right have we to try and make that beau- 
tiful ! ” 

Because God has done so. Our faces are 
pleasant to look at. He might have made us 
hideous instead, and, that being so, I cannot 
think that it can be displeasing to him if we 
try to make ourselves look pleasing to each 
other.” 


130 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

The minister sat down in his own high- 
backed arm-chair, and looked steadfastly at his 
daughter, ‘‘ My dear, if, as you say, you have 
prayed earnestly over this matter, and this is 
your heartfelt belief, I have nought to say 
against it. Should you choose to become a 
Quaker or a Vaneist, I should be compelled to 
respect your belief, much as it might grieve 
me, Mary; and it must be the same with 
this.’' 

O, father, cannot you see that if God 
makes things so beautiful, we may surely use 
our hands to do the same exclaimed Mary, 
in a grieved tone. She had thought it would 
be so easy to persuade her father into sympa- 
thizing with her in this view of the matter, 
that the mere tolerance he was prepared to 
giye — comparing it even with Quakerism 
was bitterly disappointing to her. It did not 
shake her opinion, however. She had fought 
her fight, and won the victory, and was pre- 
pared for opposition and shocked surprise 
from friends ; and although she had hoped for 
more than tolerance from her father, she was 
enabled to bear even this, in the hope of be- 
ing able to help him in his noble struggle by 
and by. She would not return to her lace- 
making now, and resolved to take her pillow 


Father and Daughter, 1 3 1 

out of the parlor, and keep it out of his sight 
as much as possible in future. 

She went now and fetched the horn of cider 
she had recommended, and brought with it a 
slice of the pasty left from dinner ; and while 
her father was eating his supper she asked 
about what had happened on Tower Hill, and 
what the people thought of the matter. 

They like it not, as I gather, and there 
are loud complaints against the Act of Uni- 
formity, which will drive all the Presbyterian 
ministers from London ; but it will end in 
these complainings — nothing more will be 
done.’’ 

As Mr. Maitland said this he looked keenly 
at Mary, and a little color rose to her cheek 
as she said : 

My father, you will not comply with this 
Act?” 

What — what do you mean, Mary ? ” asked 
the minister, eagerly, with more animation in 
his face than she had seen for a long time. 

I have thought about it, father, and we 
cannot do this even to stay here,” said 
Mary. 

God bless you, my Mary ! ” said her fa- 
ther, earnestly, his face radiant with joy. ‘‘ It 
has been a sore grief to me of late that you 


132 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

could not come to me and say we will protest 
together and bear the trouble together; for 
what right had I to protest alone, while the 
trouble must be shared ? Do not fear, my 
Mary ; the Lord who provides for the witless 
little birds will provide for his servants who 
trust in him.” 

He had quite forgotten the lace-making and 
every other unpleasant subject in the joy of 
feeling that, whatever he might be called upon 
to do in the name of right and truth, Mary 
would sympathize with him, and cheerfully 
share the sacrifice involved, whatever it might 
be. 

“ When shall we have to go away from 
here ? ” asked Mary, with a little paling of the 
cheek as she spoke, for she knew it would be 
a bitter pain to her to leave her home— the 
only home she had ever known. 

“ The last time I shall preach in the church 
will be the lyth of August — about two months 
hence,” said her father, trying to subdue the 
quaver in his voice. “ For what right have I 
to grieve, since Mary has given me such joy ? ” 
he whispered to himself. 

“ Then we have two months to make our 
arrangements-. I should like to live near here, 
if we can,” said Mary, thinking of her lace, and 


Father and Daughter. 133 

how difficult it might be to dispose of it if they 
went away from London. 

‘‘ We can only take a small house — much 
smaller than this/' said Mr. Maitland, as he 
looked round the pleasant old room and 
thought that they would have to do without 
a parlor soon. It was in continuation of 
this thought that he said : ‘‘ I must find a 
customer for some of this furniture before we 
move." 

“ Must we sell it ? " gasped Mary, the tables 
and chairs suddenly becoming very precious 
to her. 

‘‘ What can we do with it ? " asked her fa- 
ther. I shall, doubtless, find some employ- 
ment ; but I know not what it will be, for so 
many will be in like evil case that some will 
have to wait awhile. I could do good scriven- 
er’s work with my pen, but other craft have I 
none wherewith to earn my bread. But this 
savors of unbelief," he suddenly added, cor- 
recting himself. ‘‘ Let us not talk of this, ex- 
cept as we must prepare for our removal." 

It is best to talk of it, I think," said Mary. 
“ We must think of what is best to be done." 

She longed to tell her father that she and 
Rosalind could earn money by lace-making ; 
but she was afraid to mention it for fear he 


134 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

should peremptorily forbid her doing it for 
such a purpose. 

‘‘To be sure, my dear; and although the 
Lord promises to provide bread and water for 
his servants, he says nought about giving them 
summer parlors or pasties, and so in future we 
will do without pasties ; and, though we may 
keep the parlor a little longer, we must be 
content by and by to sit in the keeping-room 
or kitchen. You will tell Deb to make no 
more pasties, Mary,’' he added. 

“ I always make them myself, father. I 
made this for the children, but-^” 

“ What shall we do about telling the chil- 
dren ?’' asked Mr. Maitland, who was eager to 
consult Mary about every thing now. 

“ Not yet, father,” said Mary. “ I have told 
Rosalind, and — and — ” 

Mary stammered and colored, for she hardly 
knew how to tell her father of the bargain she 
and Rosalind had made with each other. But 
he was too eager to notice her hesitation. 

“ My dear, Rosalind is an orphan, and our 
home is hers as long as she wishes to stay 
with us,” he said, quickly. 

“ And — and she wishes to stay,” said Mary. 

“Then, my dear, the Lord will provide for 
her as well as us,” said Mr. Maitland. 


Father and Daughter, 


135 


Mary mentally called herself some hard 
names as she thought of the lace-making, and 
wished she could rest in the Lord as her 
father did. 

Now, my dear, about Deb,'” said the min- 
ister. '' Have you thought about her?" 

Mary nodded. 

“ Rosalind and I can do the work if we go 
into a smaller house, and I must teach Annie 
to help us," said Mary. 

‘‘ Then will you speak to Deb, and tell her 
to inquire for a good place among the citizens ? 
But if she be not suited, she must go hence 
with us until the Lord open the way for her." 

I should like to go and talk to Mrs. Haw- 
kins about it to-morrow," said Mary, thinking 
that her old friend’s strong common-sense and 
long experience would be of great service to 
her in the re-adjustment of their affairs. 

My dear, I promised you should go, but 
had almost forgotten it. Our old friend wishes 
to see you. I am not sure she told me what 
it was about. I find it hard to remember 
every thing, and I have seen and heard so 
much to-day." 

You are quite worn out, I can see, father," 
said Mary, tenderly. Let me bring you the 
Bible, and call Deb and the children at once ; " 


136 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

and, as she spoke, Mary brought the big Bible, 
and placed it open before her father, and then 
summoned the rest of the family for the usual 
evening worship. 

The next ‘morning, soon after breakfast, 
Mary walked to Mrs. Hawkinses, and, as usual, 
found the old lady busy in her kitchen, although 
she kept two maids and a serving-man to 
attend her. 

“ There is nothing like looking into affairs 
yourself, Mary/' said the old lady, as she fin- 
ished the venison pasty she had been making, 
and turned to greet Mary. Come with me 
now to the parlor, and tell me what you think 
of my plan. Your father told you all about 
it?" 

Mary colored, but was obliged to confess 
that her father must have forgotten all about 
it. 

“ Dear, dear, the poor man’s head is almost 
turned with one tronble and another. Well, 
well, all the more reason that somebody should 
think for him. Now, my dear, you know you 
will have to move in August, when your father 
gives up or is turned out of the living, which- 
ever you are pleased to call it ; and one of my 
houses near the river has just become vacant, 
and I think you had better come and live in it." 


137 


Father and Daughter. 

“ O, thank you, Mrs. Hawkins ! said Mary. 
“ I shall be glad if I shall be able to pay the 
rent.” 

“ I’ll take it in lace,” said Mrs. Hawkins, 
quickly. ‘‘ Mind, it is not so large as yours.” 

Then father did remember something about 
it, for he said we must sell some of the furni- 
ture.” 

‘‘No, no, Mary; you and I must prevent 
that. We must make the new home as much 
like the old one as we can ; ” and then they 
entered into a detailed discussion of the whole 
plan ; and Mary spent a pleasant day with her 
friend, and went home much more refreshed 
and strengthened for her arduous work. 


138 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 


CHAPTER X. 

BLACK BARTHOLOMEW’S DAY. 



HE 17th of August, 1662, was a sad day 


- 1 - for London. To the last, many a citizen 
had hoped that the Act of Uniformity, in all 
its rigor, would not be enforced ; but it was 
known now that in nearly every London pul- 
pit the usual minister would preach for the 
last time on that day; and by six o’clock in 
the morning the city was astir, for every body 
was anxious to secure a seat ; and long before 
seven every church door had an eager throng 
waiting outside for them to be thrown open. 

Our old friends Launcelot and Audrey Ayl- 
mer decided to go and hear Dr. Bates, at St. 
Dunstan’s, in Fleet Street, and, by favor of a 
friend, got in at a back door. The church was 
then half full, although the doors had not been 
opened to the crowd waiting outside. 

“ How sad and serious every body looks!” 
whispered Audrey, when they had taken their 
seats, and had time to look round the church. 

Launcelot nodded. He was thinking of 


Black Bartholomew' s Day. 139 

what he had heard at Whitehall a month or 
two ago, and wondered how many in that 
throng would have been made sorrowful and 
anxious for the rest of their lives if these 
Presbyterian ministers had thought of them- 
selves first, and their own ease, and consented 
to receive re-ordination. Not that he had 
any sympathy with them in their conscien- 
tious scruples, but the view taken of it by the 
man in the crowd at Whitehall ought to have 
been considered by Parliament, he thought, 
when drawing up the Act ; for if the conces- 
sion of these ministers would lead those whom 
they had married and baptized in all these 
years to doubt the efficiency of the rite per- 
formed, since the ministers were not properly 
ordained, then the only thing these men could 
do was to give up all, as they were doing. No 
wonder people grumbled and complained, for 
it was hard to think of these men sacrificing 
themselves as they were doing ; and yet no 
other course seemed open under the circum- 
stances. Launcelot was thinking more of this 
than of the service, or of the eloquent sermon 
that followed. 

When it was over Audrey whispered : I 
don’t believe you know much of what he has 
been saying, although Bessie asked you to 




140 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

remember all about it to tell her. Poor, dear 
Bessie ! I wonder when she will be able to go 
to church again ! That is where she jumped 
over,'’ added Audrey, pointing to the middle 
of the gallery. 

“ Don’t talk about it. I said I would never 
come to this church again. But now about 
the text ; I really have forgotten it. The ser- 
mon was about a shepherd, I know ; tell me 
what the text was.” 

‘‘ It was in the last chapter of Hebrews. 
I’ve learned it, so as to be sure of it for Bes- 
sie: ‘Now the God of peace, that brought 
again from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great 
Shepherd of the sheep, through the blood of 
the everlasting covenant.” Don’t you want to 
learn it, too ? ” asked Audrey. 

“ O, no ! and I don’t see why Bessie should 
be so taken up with religion as she is. I don’t 
like it ; it isn’t natural for a young girl like 
her ; she isn’t going to die yet ; and you ought 
to cheer her up a bit, and get her to think of 
something else.” 

“ Cheer her up ! ” exclaimed Audrey ; “ why, 
that is what she does for us. Religion does 
not make her dull, Launce. I’ve wondered 
sometimes what it can be — whether she hasn’t 
had some secret communication from the king 


Black Bartholorneiv s Day, 14 1 

about Aylmer Court ; because when mother 
talks about it sometimes, as you know she 
will, Bessie smiles and says, ‘ Don’t worry, 
mother; it will all come right in the end/ Do 
you think the king has heard of her illness, 
and sent to tell her secretly that he is working 
for us still ? ” 

Launcelot shook his head. 

‘‘ How could such a thing be possible? who 
could he send, so that we did not know all 
about the business?” he asked. 

“ There's that Puritan girl. Miss Maitland, 
who comes to see her so often. O Launce! I 
wonder whether her father is going to give 
up the living ! ” suddenly broke off Audrey. 
“ There’s a lot of children, I believe. Surely 
he would not be so foolish ; do you think he 
would ? ” 

‘‘ I don’t know. Tm not sure but I should 
do the same, if I was a minister.’* 

“ O, Launce ! I thought you were glad we 
were going to have our beautiful prayer book 
back again ! ” exclaimed Andrey. 

O I don’t care much either way ! ” said her 
brother, carelessly. “ I tell you, Audrey, 
there’s only tw^o things I do care for now — to 
get back Aylmer Court, and be revenged on 
Sir Harry Oaklands ! ” and, as he pronounced 


142 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

the name, young Aylmer clenched his teeth 
and almost hissed out the words. 

His sister glanced at his threatening face, 
and an indefinable feeling of terror crept over 
her. 

Bessie don’t think he had any thing to do 
with Rosalind,” she said, timidly. 

‘‘ But he did, though ; and he killed my 
father as surely as though he had struck him 
down with a dagger. You remember the story 
about that Carthaginian general who made his 
son swear eternal enmity to the Romans? 
Well, I have sworn to myself to be revenged 
on the man who has ruined my family ! ” said 
Launcelot, hoarsely. 

O, don’t ! ” gasped Audrey ; what would 
Bessie say if she heard you talking like this?” 

She never will hear me, and you must not 
tell her, Audrey. I ought not to have told 
you, perhaps; but the words slipped out just 
because they are always in my thoughts, I sup- 
pose. But, mind, not a word must you say to 
Bessie. If she were quite well — if she were 
something different — I should like to talk to 
her as I always have done ; but I can’t now — 
not about this, at least ; so pray you be care- 
ful, Audrey, or I shall not tell you of any of 
my secrets again.” 


Black Bartlioloineui s Day, 143 

‘‘Very well, I promise,’’ said Audrey, who 
felt flattered at the thought of being made 
her brother’s confidante. Bessie had always 
been his chosen companion and the recipient 
of his confidences, and to take her place 
pleased her not a little. She never glanced 
at the responsibility involved in this — never 
asked herself, as Bessie often did, “ What 
shall I do for his sake?” She felt now, 
as she walked by his side, an instinctive hor- 
ror, as she thought of what he had said to 
her ; but she would not say a word about it, 
for fear he should not trust her with a secret 
again. 

When they reached home Bessie welcomed 
them with a pleasant smile, and asked about 
the text and the sermon, and whether Dr. 
Bates had said any thing about giving up the 
pulpit. 

“ O yes ! it’s all settled ; and we could tell 
from the way he talked about the Lord Jesus 
being the chief Shepherd, that he was going 
to leave. But what about Mr. Maitland — that 
Puritan girl’s father ? Is he going to give up 
his living, too ? They have got a lot of chil- 
dren, I think ; and I don’t believe they are 
very rich/’ added Audrey. 

“ I don’t think they are. But what made 


144 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

you think about Mr. Maitland ? Have you 
seen Mary ? ” 

0 no ! Only all those Puritan ministers 
are so stupid, they wont use our beautiful 
prayer book ; and I wondered whether he was 
like the rest,’’ said Audrey. 

1 don’t know. I’m sure. I’ve not seen 
Mary for more than a week now. Would it 
make a great difference to them, do you think, 
Launce ? ” she said, turning to her brother. 

Unless he has a fortune, or can otherwise 
provide for them, they are just beggars,” said 
Launcelot, bluntly. 

“ But couldn’t he get another living in the 
country?” asked Bessie. 

How could he, my dear ? ” interposed Mrs. 
Aylmer. ‘‘ This Act of Uniformity is to be 
enforced all over England to-day, and these 
Presbyterian ministers will not be allowed to 
preach anywhere again. I am very sorry for 
them,” added the lady, with something of a 
patronizing sigh. 

‘‘ O, mother, what will they do ? ” said Bes- 
sie, in atone of distress. ‘‘I never thought 
of it in that way before ; I thought they could 
go into the country. What will they do, 
Launce, do you think?” she asked, turning to 
her brother ; for with his experience as a clerk 


Black Bartholomcijd s Day. 145 

in the Navy Office he was supposed to know 
all about every thing. 

“ O, they'll get on somehow ; you need not 
vex yourself about them,” said Launcelot, 
carelessly. 

O, if we only had Aylmer Court again ! 
exclaimed Bessie, clasping her hands. 

“ We will have it ! ’’ said Launcelot, in a 
low, eager tone, as earnest in its intensity as 
her own. “ It is the one thing I live for; and 
you shall go there yet, Bessie.” 

‘‘ And you will let Mr. Maitland be our 
chaplain, wont you ? ” said Bessie, quickly. 

‘‘ I don’t know. I don’t care much about 
Puritans, and besides — ” 

“ What are you two talking about?” asked 
Audrey, who had been helping her mother to 
set the dinner-table. 

“ Only the old topic — Aylmer Court. IVe 
just got Bessie to say she wants to go back 
there,” said Launcelot. 

‘‘ Of course, I should like to go,” said Bes- 
sie ; and we shall go, if it’s good for us.” 

‘‘There, I told you so ; I knew what she 
would say,” laughed Audrey. “ She thinks we 
need not trouble ourselves about it, although 
I believe, if we could go there, she would soon 
be able to walk about again.” 

10 


146 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

‘‘ Now, Audrey, come to dinner. We do 
not have venison pasty every day ; so pray 
do not let it get cold,’’ said Mrs. Aylmer, tak- 
ing her seat at the table. 

Launcelot had contrived a stand for Bessie’s 
accommodation, so that she could take her 
meals lying on the broad bench in the wide 
bow-window, for there was no change in her 
condition — no return of strength to her lower 
limbs — although she seemed better in her gen- 
eral health than she had been previous to the 
accident. 

Mrs. Aylmer had become a little more rec- 
onciled to her son’s occupation by this time. 
Mr. Pepys had taken care to make his duties 
as light as possible, and had taken him with 
him when he went in his official capacity to 
prepare for the coming of the new queen at 
Portsmouth. Launcelot had hoped much from 
this visit at the time, for he felt sure he should 
have an opportunity of seeing and speaking 
privately to the king, and also find out some- 
thing about the movements of Sir Harry Oak- 
lands ; for as yet he did not even know for 
certain whether he was in England, although 
he supposed he was about the court. In both 
these expectations, however, he was disap- 
pointed, for he had to return from Portsmouth 


Black Bartholomew^ s Day, 147 

before the queen’s actual arrival ; and no one 
he ventured to speak to about it had ever heard 
of Sir Harry Oaklands being with the king. 

But he had gone on nourishing his hatred 
against his supposed enemy, and hoping to 
obtain an audience of the king; and he had 
represented to his mother that at the Navy 
Office, and treated with the consideration he 
was by Mr. Pepys, he was more likely to ob- 
tain an interview with Charles than in any 
other way ; and so Mrs. Aylmer had promised 
to rest content for the present as they were, 
although she liad no more given up the hope 
of being reinstated in her old home than her 
son had. 

His salary lifted them above actual want, 
and they had long since given up every luxury 
and learned to economize ; so that Mrs. Ayl- 
mer was not at a loss how to contrive things 
for the best. It was not often that they in- 
dulged in the unwonted luxury of a venison 
pasty such as they had to-day ; and so she was 
the more imperative in her commands that 
Audrey and Launcelot should take their places 
at table and Bessie be served while it was hot. 
Launcelot waited upon her, whispering as he 
set down the bright pewter plate by her 
side : 


148 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

I hope to serve you on silver, fair lady, 
before another August comes round.” 

‘‘ I am sure the pasty will not taste so good 
then, for no cook can make a pasty like my 
mother,” said Bessie, with a smile. 

O, it is delicious ! ” said Audrey, who had 
no recollection of eating venison pasty before, 
and whose appetite' had not been spoiled by 
rich food. But the dinner was not such an 
unmixed enjoyment to Mrs. Aylmer as it was 
to her children. Venison pasty had been a 
favorite dish with her husband, and scarcely a 
week passed but it had held a prominent place 
on the breakfast-table of Aylmer Court ; and 
the well-known flavor brought back recollec- 
tions of that time, and the tears rose to her 
eyes, and there came a choking sensation in 
her throat. 

Launcelot, too, was very silent ; for similar 
emotions had been stirred in his mind, and he 
thought, with bitterness, that but for the 
treachery of their pretended friend they might 
now be eating their dinner in their old home. 

Audrey, however, was troubled by no such 
reflections. She was too young when they 
fled from their ancestral home to have more 
than a faint recollection of it ; and so to her 
the dinner was an unalloyed pleasure, and she 


149 


Black Bartholomew s Day. 

ate and chatted and laughed, regardless of the 
fact that she only obtained short answers from 
her brother, and that her mother was quite 
silent. 

When dinner was over Launcelot rose and 
prepared to go out. ‘‘ Where are you going ? ” 
asked Bessie, wistfully, for he had formed the 
habit of going out as soon as his meals were 
over, and she was growing vaguely anxious 
about these aimless wanderings, for she knew 
he had no friends and had formed no friend- 
ships in London. Couldn’t you sit with me, 
Launce, this afternoon?” she said, timidly. 

Mother and Audrey are going to church by 
and by.” 

But this was just what Launcelot was anx- 
ious to avoid. He could not enjoy a chat 
with Bessie as he once could. In her presence 
he felt vaguely uncomfortable. Her clear, 
earnest gaze seemed to have something re- 
proachful in it whenever she looked at him; 
and so he never sat down to talk to her as 
he once did, but always made some excuse to 
get away. 

He stammered confusedly now as he shook 
back his long flowing curls, and murmured 
something about not being away long. “ I 
will just take a turn in Paul’s Walk, and hear 


150 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

what the gossips say about these Puritans 
being turned out of their pulpits/’ he said. 

Paul’s Walk, or the nave of St. Paul’s Ca- 
thedral, w^as the general rendezvous for all 
sorts of people. It was the most popular me- 
dium of advertisement in those days, for at- 
tached to the pillars might be seen trades- 
men’s boards advertising their wares, or an- 
nouncing a change of residence, or that they 
wanted apprentices or servants. Here attor- 
neys and people of more questionable callings 
touted for customers among the throng who 
were constantly passing up and down this 
fashionable promenade, some to meet friends, 
some to discuss business, some for mere idle 
gossip and to learn the last court scandal ; for 
the court was by no means unrepresented in 
this popular resort of the citizens, and gay 
noblemen and fashionable ladies would mingle 
with the crowd of meaner folk when it suited 
them. 

It was this last fact which made it such a 
favorite lounge with Launcelot. Most of his 
spare time was spent now in pacing up and 
down Paul’s Walk, in the hope of seeing or 
hearing something of Sir Harry Oaklands ; but 
neither Bessie nor any one else knew what his 
motive was for going there, and his mother 


Black Bartholomew^ s Day. 1 5 1 

was rather glad he found some pleasure out- 
side their dull home ; but Bessie was vaguely 
anxious, she knew not why, only she wished 
that Launcelot would sit with her sometimes, 
and not spend all his spare time in these wan- 
derings up and down Paul’s Walk. 


152 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 


CHAPTER XI. 

A SHOCK FOR MARY. 

TV /r ARY, there’s a knock at the door. 

i.VX We sha’n’t have our quiet talk now, 
although Audrey has left us. ‘‘ Come in,” said 
Bessie, in a louder tone, and a little impatient- 
ly. But when the door opened, Bessie’s face 
changed instantly, and she gladly welcomed 
her kind doctor, whom she had begun to regard 
as a friend as much as a medical adviser. 

I am so glad you have come to-day, doc- 
tor,” she said, as she drew a chair to the side 
of her couch. 

“ Are you feeling ill. Mistress Bessie ? ” asked 
the doctor, taking her hand to feel her pulse. 
‘‘ You are looking very well,” he added. 

Yes, I am well — quite well,” said the girl. 
Mary and the doctor both looked at her with 
some surprise. “ That is what I wanted to 
talk to you about,” continued Bessie, in a hur- 
ried tone. “ I am well enough now for mother 
to know all about it, and I want you to tell 
her.” 


A Shock for Mary, 


153 


‘‘You want me tell her?” repeated the doc- 
tor, in assumed ignorance of what she meant. 

“ Yes, doctor ; you know what I mean. I 
— I — cannot tell them myself that I shall al- 
ways lie here like a useless log, and it hurts 
me to hear my mother talk of the time when I 
shall go to court, and dance a minuet with the 
queen’s ladies.” 

“ But who told you that you would npt ? ” 
said the doctor, thinking that her brother must 
have betrayed the secret. 

“ No one has ever told me but the voice 
that never speaks falsely. I see you know it, 
too, doctor,” she said, looking up into his 
face. 

“ My dear young lady, I am afraid your sur- 
mise is a correct one,” said the doctor, in a 
grave tone ; “ but I did not wish you to know 
it yet — not until you had quite recovered from 
the shock, as far as recovery is possible — that 
is, until your general health is re-established.” 

“ But I have known it for a long time,” said 
Bessie, with a smile — “ known it for a cer- 
tainty ; you need not think it is a mere sur- 
mise. This inward voice told me God wanted 
me to give up the power of moving about, 
lest I should stray from him, and not follow 
the holy Light he wished me to seek and fol- 


154 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

low. It seemed a great deal to ask of a young 
girl like me, and just at first I prayed that I 
might get well again for my mothers sake; 
but the voice whispered that God could make 
it a blessing to my mother as well as me ; and 
so, doctor, I want you to tell her, and Launce- 
lot, too;’' 

The doctor cleared his throat, and looked 
out of the window a minute before he spoke, 
and then, in a husky voice, he said : ‘‘And you 
think you can bear this great trial bravely?” 

“ I am not brave, doctor — don’t think that ; 
for I cannot tell my mother about it. I want 
you to do it for me ; tell her I am content that 
it should be so now.” 

“ What ! content to lie here all your days ! ” 
exclaimed Mary. “Don’t you think some- 
thing more could be done for her, doctor ? ” she 
asked, almost imploringly, for she had learned 
to love Bessie Aylmer very dearly, and the 
news that she would never be able to walk 
about again had struck her like a blow. 

But the doctor, though scarcely less touched 
than Mary herself, shook his head sadly. “ I 
am afraid there is no hope of her ever regain- 
ing the use of her lower limbs,” he said. 

“And think how much worse it might have 
been ! ” put in Bessie. “ I might have lost my 


A Shock for Mary. 


I5S 

eye-sight, and then I could never have seen 
God’s face in the river and fields, as I often see 
it now; and I can use my hands: I can make 
lace ; and then, O ! I can never make you un- 
derstand the inward comfort and joy I have 
sometimes, when I think I have given all the 
running and walking I could ever do up to 
God himself. You have to walk about the 
world and do God’s work in it a little bit every 
day; but God has just taken my walks all at 
once, instead of a bit at a time,” added Bessie, 
with a smile, trying to cheer her visitors. 

You are right. Mistress Bessie, to look at 
it in that light ; it is the only right way, I be- 
lieve ; and if any power on earth can help you 
to move again, it will be this calm, restful 
spirit. Fretfulness and impatience, although 
perfectly natural under the circumstances, 
would in themselves prevent all chance of a 
restoration ; and that is why I have so care- 
fully guarded, as I thought, all knowledge of 
the hopelessness of your condition from you.” 

‘‘ But if you are quite sure it is hopeless, 
doctor,” interposed Mary, '' then — ” 

Have you never heard the old adage, 
Where there is life there is hope ? ’ Mistress 
Bessie is young, too, and that might give her 
a chance ; therefore I was bound to guard her 


156 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

from a knowledge that I feared would deprive 
her of this chance, even though my opinion 
pronounced the case hopeless from the first.’' 

“ And it is better I should know it at once 
than go on trying to move my legs, and feel- 
ing disappointed and unhappy because I gain 
no power in them," said Bessie. 

“ Exactly," he answered ; and if any thing 
can prove I have been mistaken in this case, 
this quiet restfulness will do it," said the doctor. 

“ But to think of its being so hopeless," said 
Mary, looking compassionately at her friend. 

She is not hopeless," said the doctor, in a 
severe tone. ‘^You hear, she does not even 
feel that she is forcibly deprived of the power 
to move about ; she simply gives it up to God." 

“Yes, that is it exactly," said Bessie. “I 
don't want to feel I have no choice in the mat- 
ter. I want to realize that things are just as I 
would have them — that I have voluntarily 
given up the power of my feet to God — as 
freely as you have given me these flowers, 
dear," she said, holding up the posy Mary had 
brought her. 

“You are fond of flowers?" said the doc- 
tor, thinking the conversation had been long 
enough on this topic, and anxious to turn it 
in another direction. 


A Shock for Mary, 157 

So do \f said Mary; and then she went 
on to describe the gardens she had seen at 
Saye Court a few weeks before ; and the doc- 
tor told of those at Hampton Court. 

There now, you see you give me the ben- 
efit of your eyes,*' said Bessie, with a smile ; 
‘‘ and if I shut mine, I can just see those lovely 
gardens, with their flower-beds, without the 
fatigue of going to them.’' 

“ Which is a clear advantage gained, Mis- 
tress Bessie,” said the doctor ; ‘‘ for I could 
scarcely enjoy Hampton Court gardens for the 
fatigue of walking so far in the sun. Now I 
must bid you good-morrow,” he said, rising. 

But you will come again soon, and tell 
my mother?” said Bessie, eagerly. 

‘'Yes, yes; I am not going to give you up 
as a patient yet ; I want to watch your case, 
you know. But I told your brother the first 
time that I saw you, what I have now told 
you, that I feared you would never regain the 
use of your lower limbs.” 

“ You told Launcelot that ? O, I wish I had 
known. Poor Launce ! it is that, then, that is 
making him so unhappy, so afraid to talk to me 
now. I am so glad I know it,” added Bessie, 
her eyes filling with tears at the thought of 
her brother’s unhappiness on her account. 


158 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

‘‘ Perhaps it would be better for him to 
break the news to your mother ? said the 
doctor. 

But Bessie shook her head. I don’t think 
Launce could do it,” she said, anxious to save 
him pain. I — I should be so glad if you 
would tell her the next time you come.” 

“Very well, then; it shall be as you wish. 
I will call again in a day or two, and see Mrs. 
Aylmer alone, if possible.” 

The two girls sat looking at each other in 
silence for a few minutes after the doctor had 
left. At length Mary said : “ Why didn’t you 
tell me this before, dear? You have had no 
one to talk to about it.” 

Bessie shook her head. “ I don’t think I 
could have talked about it before,” she said. 
“ It has just been a secret between my soul 
and God ; and until I had got used to it — heard 
my voice whisper its comfort a good many 
times, and given it all up to God again and 
again — I don’t think I could have spoken to 
any body without crying, and making you feel 
unhappy. But now, you see, I have got used 
to it more, and I am very good friends with 
my poor legs, instead of hating them, as I felt 
inclined to do at first.” 

“ My poor Bessie, it is hard for you ! ” said 


A Shock for Mary. 1 59 

Mary, tenderly, the tears falling from her eyes 
as she spoke. 

Now, Mary, you’ll make me a coward,” said 
Bessie, drawing her friend closer to her. 
“ Don^t you think that God, who has given me 
your love, loves me quite as much as you 
do ? ” she asked. 

‘‘Yes, dear, I must believe it, although it 
seems strange love sometimes. So many things 
are happening just now that seem as though — ” 

“As though we could manage much better 
ourselves,” interrupted Bessie. “Now, I’ll tell 
you what I heard once and what I have been 
thinking of lately. A lady was doing some 
very beautiful tapestry work, and she said it 
was a picture of her life and every life. Looked 
at on the wrong side, it seemed all confusion 
and odds and ends of clipped threads ; but see 
the other, and you know that every stitch had 
its purpose — that it helped to make the pat- 
tern perfect, and the dark shades were quite as 
needful as the bright ones. So it is with our 
lives. This world is the wrong side of life ; we 
are working here often in the dark. We don’t 
see the reason for the clipped threads, the 
broken purposes that looked so bright and 
good, and in their place did help to work out 
the pattern of our lives — we want to keep on 


i6o At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

working with the bright golden threads ; and 
when God clips them short off, and gives us 
darker days — darker stitches to weave in our 
life’s tapestry — we grumble and complain — 
forgetting that the pattern is only seen on the 
other side — in the world of effects.” 

‘‘ What a wise old lady she must have been, 
to learn such a lesson from a piece of tapes- 
try ! ” said Mary. “ It is true enough, too. 
If our work is interfered with we think we 
could do it so much better if we were left alone. 
I have been thinking so lately,” she added. 

‘‘ It’s about your father, isn’t it, dear ? Has 
he had to give up preaching?’* asked Bessie. 

“Yes, dear; preaching, and all his work in 
the parish. But, Bessie,” she suddenly added, 
“ don’t you think that people — good people, I 
mean, who are trying to do their duty, and 
love and serve God — are often a puzzle to each 
other ? ” 

“ Perhaps they are,” said Bessie. “ Just 
now my brother is a puzzle to me. Only, now 
I have talked to the doctor, and I know he has 
heard that I shall never walk about like other 
girls any more, I think it may be explained ; 
and you do feel so glad when it is some body 
you love, and you can understand all about 
them again.” 


A Shock for Mary. i6i 

“Yes, you do. But how can a misunder. 
standing be cleared up ? asked Mary. “ I 
will tell you what I mean. You know my fa- 
ther is not rich, and having to give up this 
curacy has made us very poor ; and I have 
learned lace-making to help things at home ; 
but I can see it grieves my father dread- 
fully—’’ 

“ That you should have to work to keep 
the house ? — I can understand that,” said 
Bessie. 

“ But it is not that ; he does not know that 
I am doing it for that, or I am afraid he would 
forbid it at once,’' said Mary. “ It is because 
it is lace-making. I used to think the same at 
one time, and would not learn it until I felt 
quite sure it was right to do so.” 

“ Did you really think it was wrong to make 
lace ? ” asked Bessie, incredulously. 

Mary laughed at the astonished look in her 
friend’s face. “ Is it really so surprising to 
you?” she asked. “You know we do not 
wear it — at least not many, only a few old la- 
dies, like my friend, Mrs. Hawkins. I wish you 
knew her,” she added. 

But Bessie returned to the subject under 
discussion. “ To think you should have such 
thoughts about lace-making, when, as I have 
11 


i62 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

heard my mother say, it has been a sclace and 
help to many a poor woman who could not 
otherwise help her family ; and I have thanked 
God dozens of times since I have had to lie 
here that if I could not use my legs I could 
make my fingers useful with my lace pillow.” 

It does seem strange that good people 
should look upon the same things so different- 
ly,*' said Mary, with a sigh, thinking of her 
father's views about lace-making. 

I have heard my father say the same 
thing about the dreadful wars that drove us 
out of England. He knew some of the Round- 
heads were good men, and how they could 
take up arms against their lawful king he 
could not understand,'' said Bessie. 

‘‘ But he was a tyrant who tried to subvert 
the laws, and would have brought back popery 
if he could.'' 

O, Mary, Mary, how can you speak of our 
martyr king like that ? ” said Bessie, in a 
pained voice, the tears coming into her eyes 
as she spoke. 

‘‘ Bessie dear, I did not mean to hurt your 
feelings,'' said Mary, tenderly, smoothing the 
bands of fair hair ; “ I did not know you felt 
so strongly about the king.” 

'' I could not be an English girl if I did not 


A Shock for Mary, 163 

feel strongly about itf said Bessie, with a 
touch of anger in the tone. 

But I am English ; and to me — ” 

Don’t — don’t say any more ! ” interrupted 
Bessie, hastily ; this is one of the puzzles 
we can't understand, and I think we had bet- 
ter not talk about it.” 

It was the first jar that had ever occurred 
between the girls, and both felt it painfully. 
Mary rose to leave after a minute’s silence, 
and Bessie did not press her to stay any longer. 
She felt she would rather be alone for a little 
while — rather not talk to Mary any more just 
now. Of course, she had heard all about the 
Puritans and their doings ; but how a girl like 
Mary Maitland could ever entertain such 
thoughts as she did about their martyr king 
was the greatest puzzle of all. 


164 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 


CHAPTER XII. 
confidences. 

HEN Launcelot came home that even- 



^ ^ ing Bessie beckoned him to her side 
and whispered eagerly : “You need not be 
afraid to talk to me, Launce ; I know all 
about it.” 

Launcelot glanced at his sister and looked 
uneasy. “ What nonsense has Audrey been 
telling you ? ” he asked, in a sharp tone. 

“ Audrey ! she does not know it, does she ? 
But the doctor said he told you some time 


ago, 


“ O ! ” uttered her brother, in a tone of 
relief. 

Bessie looked at him keenly. “ What were 
you thinking of, Launce ? ” she asked. 

He muttered something in excuse, and said, 
hastily : “ What made the doctor talk to you 
to-day ? — what did he tell you, Bessie ? ” 

“ I told him I knew I should never walk 
again. I have known it a long time, Launce.” 

“ Who told you ? ” demanded her brother. 


Confidences, 165 

angrily. ‘‘ That meddling Puritan girl, I sup- 

I ” 

pose I 

How could she know it ? said Bessie, 
taking his hand, and stroking it tenderly as 
she whispered : Don’t you know, dear, I 

have begun to seek for the holy Light ? and 
it seems to me we learn so much when — ” 

But Launcelot turned impatiently aside. 

“ Tell me what the doctor told you,” he 
said, shortly. 

“ He said very little beyond confirming what 
I said — that my case is hopeless — was so from 
the first. He told you so, did he not ” said 
Bessie, trying to steady her voice and keep 
back her tears. 

“Yes, he did ; but I would not believe him, 
and it was cruel — brutal to tell you such a 
thing — a young girl with years of life before 
her ; and I wouldn’t believe it if I were you, 
Bessie.” 

But before Bessie could reply Audrey joined 
them in the window nook. 

“ What are you two whispering about ? ” she 
asked, looking from one to the other as she 
seated herself at the foot of Bessie’s couch. 

The tears were in Bessie’s eyes, for she felt 
there was a difference in her brother’s manner 
toward her, and his anger against the doctor 


i66 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

was rather to hide his own vexation at what 
she had said. Yet why should he be so angry 
— so anxious to shun this subject now ? They 
had so often talked about seeking the holy 
Light together when they came to England, 
that why the bare mention of it should vex 
him so much she could not understand. She 
did not attempt to reply to her sister until 
Launcelot said : Shall we tell her» Bessie ? 

Perhaps you had better,*’ replied Bessie ; 
but the doctor has promised to come in and 
tell mother.” 

“ Well, mother is out now ; so whatever it 

is, she will not hear,” said Audrey. “ Is it 
about Bessie ? ” she asked. 

“ Yes ; but mind I don’t believe it, Au- 
drey,” said her brother, quickly. ‘‘When once 
we get back to Aylmer Court Bessie will get 
stronger, I feel sure ; and she ought to believe 

it. ” 

“ Don’t she believe it, then ?” said Audrey, 
looking with some alarm at her sister. 

“No, dear; I don’t think I shall ever be 
better — ever be able to walk again,” said Bes- 
sie, calmly. 

Audrey glanced from one to another, as 
though she did not comprehend what was 
said, and then burst into tears. “ I wont be- 


Confidences, 167 

Heve it,” she said, through her sobs ; I wont, 
I can't believe it. Why, Bessie, you are get- 
ting better ! ” she protested. ‘‘ Mother said 
only yesterday you were looking quite well 
and strong.” 

And I am well,” said Bessie, drawing her 
sister’s head down upon her shoulder ; “ only, 
don’t you see, I get no power in my legs. No, 
dear, 1 shall never be able to walk again ! ” 

'' O, Bessie, don’t say it like that ! Why 
don’t you cry like I do, or get angry like 
Launce is, and then — and then — ” 

‘‘What then?” asked Bessie, with a faint 
smile, smoothing Audrey’s tumbled hair. 

“ O, I don’t know; only it wouldn’t seem so 
real, somehow ! ” and Audrey’s tears flowed 
afresh. In a minute or two she looked up at 
her brother, who stood leaning against the 
wall. “You must get Aylmer Court now, for 
Bessie’s sake ! ” she said, passionately. “ Why 
don’t the king let us have it ? ” she added. 

“ Because his mind has been poisoned 
against us,” said Launcelot, in a calm tone ; 
but his lips were rigid with anger, and he ab- 
ruptly turned away and left his sisters to finish 
their talk by themselves. 

After eating a slice of rye bread and swal- 
lowing down a horn of ale, he picked up his 


i68 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

hat and went out without speaking again to 
his sisters. 

“ Audrey, what can be the matter with 
him?” said Bessie, in a troubled whisper, as 
the door closed and they heard him going 
down the stairs. 

Audrey shook her head, and turned to look 
out of the window. “ He is always thinking 
about Aylmer Court, I believe ; and it is a 
shame the king don’t give it back to us,”, she 
said. 

‘‘ He seems so full of anger and bitterness,’^ 
said Bessie ; it makes him forget to be kind 
even to me and her tears fairly overflowed, 
not so much on account of missing her broth- 
er’s kindness as for the change in himself. 

Don’t cry, Bessie ; he don’t mean to be 
unkind. I’m sure. It’s just because he is so 
fond of you, and can’t bear to see you in this 
miserable place ; and — ” 

And yet he makes it harder for me to 
bear,” sobbed Bessie, now fairly breaking 
down. The change in her brother had been a 
secret trouble to her for a long time ; but now 
it was. spoken of, it seemed as though all her 
firmness must give way, and the undefinable 
fears that had haunted her for weeks past 
found expression now. 


Confidences, 169 

“ Hush, hush, Bessie,'’ said Audrey, begin- 
ning to cry too. I'm sure Launce don’t 
mean to be unkind.” 

But what is he thinking about? Why 
does he go to Paul’s Walk every day? Can 
it be the king -he hates so much ? ” demanded 
Bessie. 

Audrey thought of what her brother had 
told her about Sir Harry Oaklands, but she 
would not tell her sister. O ! he’s just think- 
ing how he can get back Aylmer Court for 
us,” she said, carelessly. 

But have you noticed, Audrey, that he 
always wears his sword again, now?” 

And why shouldn’t he ? ” demanded Au- 
drey. All gentlemen wear swords ; and 
Launce is a gentleman, although he has to do 
something in the Navy Office just now. Don’t 
be silly, Bessie, and fret about nothing. Here 
is mother,” she added, as the door opened. 

Mrs. Aylmer glanced from one to the other 
suspiciously, seeing Bessie hastily wipe the 
tears from her eyes. “ What is it ? What has 
happened to upset you, my dear?” she asked, 
in some anxiety. 

“ She is fretting about Launce going to 
Paul’s Walk so much, and wearing his sword 
again,” answered Audrey, quickly. 


170 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

But, my dear, why should he not go to 
Paul’s Walk, where he is likely to meet with 
some of the court? And as for wearing his 
sword, why would you have him go without it, 
as though he were not a gentleman by birth 
and right?” 

Of course, Bessie had no satisfactory reason 
to urge against this, and she could not tell her 
mother of the vague fears that haunted her ; 
and so she allowed her to think it was the 
mere fretful fancy of an invalid, and she even 
tried to think the same herself ; but it was of 
no use. She became possessed by the idea 
that her brother was in some great danger. 
What it was she could form no conception of; 
but after she went to bed that night, she re- 
solved to make this a special matter of prayer, 
that he might not quench the holy Light, 
which she was afraid he w^as doing, but learn 
to seek it, and give himself up to its guidance. 

The weeks went on with little change in 
Launcelot, except that he shunned Bessie 
more; for he felt certain she was watching 
him keenly and anxiously, and it vexed and 
annoyed him. He felt sometimes that she 
was in some way holding him back from his 
purposes, aiding his enemy to escape from 
him ; for his loungings in Paul’s Walk had 


Confidences, 171 

been so far rewarded, that he knew now Sir 
Harry Oaklands was in London somewhere, 
and he longed the more intensely to take him 
by the throat, and tell him he was a traitor 
and a murderer, before running him through 
with his sword. Sometimes in his dreams at 
night he had his enemy at his mercy, saw the 
hated face grow white, and then purple, 
under his strangling grasp ; but just as he was 
about to raise his sword something always 
hindered him. One night this terrible dream 
was more than usually vivid, and then he dis- 
tinctly saw his sister Bessie snatch the sword 
from his hand. 

The next morning Bessie said to him : O, 
Launce, I have had such a horrible dream 
about you. I thought you were rushing to- 
ward a precipice, and I seized hold of your 
cloak to hold you back ; but every moment I 
was afraid you would tear it out of my hand 
and rush on, and I knew you would be dashed 
to pieces if I did not hold you fast.’' 

‘‘ And you were doing something in my 
dream, too,” said Launcelot, as he hastily cut 
himself a slice of bread. 

‘‘What was she doing? Was she lame 
when she held you ? ” asked Audrey. 

“ O, I can’t tell now,” said Launce, quickly. 


172 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

But he did not forget the dreams ; they re- 
curred to his mind often during the day, mix- 
ing themselves up with naval estimates, and ob- 
truding themselves even while talking to Mr. 
Pepys and other officials at the Navy Office. 

He went to lounge in Paul’s Walk as usual, 
but somehow the gossip and court scandal 
were not so amusing to-day ; and he went to 
walk in the direction of one of the city gates, 
intending to go to the fields beyond, when a 
sudden shower of rain drove him to take 
shelter in a narrow court. While he stood 
here — sheltered by the overhanging eaves — 
several people passed up the court ; men and 
women decently dressed, but hurrying along 
in a furtive manner that aroused Launcelot’s 
curiosity ; and he resolved to follow them at 
last. There was no difficulty in doing this; 
for when he overtook them near a half-opened 
door at the top of the passage, one of them 
turned and said: Friend, thou art welcome 
to worship with us.” 

Launcelot thought he had discovered a se- 
cret meeting of the ejected Puritans, and was 
half-disposed to turn back and go home; but 
it was still raining fast, and so he thought he 
would go in and wait until the shower was 


over. 


Confidences, 173 

Almost as soon as he was seated the whole 
company fell upon their knees ; but no sound 
was heard for some minutes. Then a voice, 
trembling with impassioned earnestness, broke 
the stillness of the room ; and a great cry went 
up to heaven, imploring God to have mercy 
upon sinners ; to let them feel the stirrings of 
the Spirit, though dead in trespasses and sins. 

O, it is the penitent, the reformed, the 
lowly, the watchful, the self-denying and holy 
soul only that is the Christian,” pleaded the 
speaker; and that frame is the fruit and 
work of the Spirit which is the life of Jesus, 
whose life, though hid in the fullness of Christ 
in God the Father, is shed abroad in the 
hearts of them that truly believe according to 
their capacity.’' Then the speaker went on 
pleading with God for the outpouring of this 
Spirit, to strive in the hearts of men ; and 
Launcelot listened spell-bound not merely to 
the words of the prayer — although they stirred 
him deeply — but the tones of the voice thrilled 
him ; and he tried to see the speaker’s face the 
moment he began to pray, but could not catch 
a glimpse of him. 

As' soon as the prayer was over he rose 
fropi his knees, anxious to assure himself that 
he was mistaken, that the voice bore some re- 


174 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

semblance to the well-known tones he had so 
often longed to hear, but that the face was the 
face of a stranger, and not his enemy. But the 
next moment all doubt was set at rest by 
some one saying : 

“ Friend Oaklands will speak a word of ex- 
hortation ; and in a moment it came upon 
Launcelot that this was a Quakers* meeting. 

He did not stay to hear the exhortation, 
but stumbled out, scarce seeing where he 
went, or understanding why he went. The 
rain was over, and the rough, uneven road was 
full of puddles ; but he walked on toward the 
city gate in spite of the gathering dusk, and 
although link-boys were beginning to escort 
belated travelers. His mind was in a maze, 
in a sea of confusion ; for never in his dreams 
of meeting Sir Harry Oaklands had he been 
like this. He had expected to see him the 
gayest of King Charles’s gay court, flattered 
and courted ; and he had pictured himself 
hurling him from this height, branding him as 
a coward and traitor, and afterward justifying 
his murder to the king. But here he was a 
Quaker. Could revenge ask more? Could 
disgrace be more complete? He had listened 
to the conversations between Mr. Pepys and 
Sir William Penn about his eldest son, and 


Confidences. i/S 

heard how he had been expelled from Oxford, 
and sent abroad, for mixing himself up with 
these fanatics, and how disgraceful the whole 
affair was considered by every body concerned ; 
and here was Sir Harry Oaklands, a gentleman 
far superior to the Penns, a courtier and boon 
companion of the king, not merely attending 
a Quaker meeting, but taking an active part 
in it, praying and preaching, and making him- 
self amenable to the laws that had only re- 
cently been made more strict against such 
practices. 

No wonder he forgot which way he was 
going — forgot his sword, and why he wore it 
so constantly of an evening — now lost in 
amazement as he was. 

The watchman at the postern gate stopped 
him as he was going through, and reminded 
him that he would need a link-boy if he was 
going far beyond the city limits, which brought 
Launcelot back to some recognition of what 
was passing around him, and he thanked the 
watchman and turned back. 

When he reached home, instead of sitting 
down to chatter to Audrey, as he had done 
lately, he went across to the window and sat 
down beside Bessie. She looked at him in 
some alarm, fearing she scarce knew what ; 


176 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

but even in the dusk she could see that his 
face was strangely perturbed. 

At last he managed to whisper : Bessie, 
IVe had my revenge.” 

She started and looked at him. This, then, 
was the evil that had been threatening him ; 
and all her prayers that he might be delivered 
from the evil had proved unavailing. The 
tears slowly gathered in her eyes, and she 
said, in a tremulous voice : 

‘‘ Will you tell me about it, Launce ? ” nerv- 
ing herself as she did so to listen to some tale 
of horror, as she glanced at the sword hang- 
ing at his side. 

I have seen Sir Harry Oaklands,” he said, 
calmly. 

She waited for him to say more, yet dread- 
ing to hear the next word, for her instinct told 
her it was against him that the hatred had 
been nourished. 

‘‘You saw him?” she said, at last, finding 
he did not speak. “ Where — what was he 
doing? ” 

“ Praying and preaching at a Quakers’ meet- 
ing.” 

“But — but Sir Harry Oaklands is not a 
Quaker!” said Bessie, in a tone of eager anx- 
iety. 


177 


Confidences. 

He is — he must be/’ said Launcelot. Is 
not that revenge enough — to see him — my 
enemy — a ranting fanatic, taking his turn in 
the pillory or Bridewell with the rest of the 
rabble crew ? O, Bessie ! I shall sleep in 
peace to-night, although I have not touched 
him.” 

“ But you have forgiven him?'' said Bessie. 

Forgiven him ! ” repeated Launcelot ; not 
enough to touch him with my good sword, and 
save him from a ranting Quaker's fate. No, 
no ! I am revenged in a sweeter, fuller way 
than I thought possible, and have not lifted 
my finger to bring it about. I shall be more 
content now ; and you need not fret yourself, 
Bessie, that I shall do him any harm." 

‘‘ But if you would only forgive him you 
would feel still happier," said Bessie, plead- 
ingly. 

Launcelot turned his head aside. 

‘‘You ask too much," he said, and left her. 

12 


178 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 


CHAPTER XIIL 

HOPES AND FEARS. 

pOR a few days after his meeting with Sir 
Harry Oaklands Launcelot Aylmer seemed 
happier. He did not hurry off the moment 
he had swallowed his evening meal, but went 
and sat with Bessie in the window, watching 
the boats and barges as they passed up and 
down the river, but carefully avoiding all ref- 
erence to serious matters. He did not men- 
tion Sir Harry Oaklands s name again ; and 
Bessie tacitly understood that he wished to 
avoid the subject. The evenings were grow- 
ing short now ; and, as it seemed likely that 
they would have to spend the winter in their 
present abode, they had to think of how it 
could be made cozy and comfortable, espe- 
cially the recess of the window where Bessie’s 
couch stood. The room at present looked 
any thing but comfortable, for the dingy serge 
arras on the walls was torn and frayed in many 
places, and altogether so old that Mrs. Ayl- 
mer’s efforts to darn and repair it were so 




Hopes and Feai's, 1 79 

much labor in vain. To ask the landlord to 
put up new arras would be useless, neither 
could they afford to do it themselves. Launce- 
lot suggested that they should take it all 
down, put the best of it together to make 
curtains for Bessie’s window, and let the walls 
remain bare. 

“ It will be cleaner and better than this 
dirty old arras, I am sure,” he said, holding up 
a tattered fragment of the serge. 

“ But how horrible the walls will look with- 
out hangings ! ” said Audrey, in dismay. 

But people do have walls without arras,” 
said Bessie, who saw in the scheme something 
that was likely to employ Launcelot dunng 
the winter evenings, and take his mind off the 
bitter thoughts of revenge that she feared were 
not yet conquered. 

‘‘ Yes ; I have seen a room at Kensing- 
ton Palace without arras ; but it was covered 
with wall-paper, which, I hear, is becoming 
fashionable, and very much cheaper than 
cloth or velvet, or even serge,” said Mrs. 
Aylmer. 

“ Why couldn’t Launce try his fresco-paint- 
ing here?” said Bessie; “it would be good 
practice for him, if the walls were made 
smooth — if it was just that side, Launce, that 


i8o At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

I can see/’ she added, coaxingly, ‘‘ it would 
make this room beautiful.” 

‘‘ Would you really like it, Bessie ? ” asked 
her brother, who was almost equally glad to 
find there was something he could do to please 
his sister, and yet would save him from being 
urged to seek that holy Light which he felt 
assured she had found, but which he shunned 
now, as asking too much of him. 

‘‘ O, Launce, it would be delightful to watch 
you of an evening, making my bower beauti- 
ful for me ! ” said Bessie. 

But, my dear Bessie, he has so little time 
after he comes from the Navy Office,” said 
Mrs. Aylmer. 

But Bessie thought of the peril he would be 
in if he did not have some occupation in the 
evening, and she said, quickly : ‘‘ There 

will be two or three hours after he comes 
home. We do not go to bed until eight 
o’clock.” 

Then there will be paint and colors to 
buy,” objected her mother. 

“ They will not cost much, mother,” said 
Launcelot, who, now that the plan had been 
proposed, was eager to execute it. He had 
some skill as a painter, and had tried some- 
thing of the kind in Flanders, and decided to 


Hopes and Fears, 1 8 1 

practice further on these walls, since it would 
please Bessie. 

He spoke to the landlord the next day, who, 
knowing the arras was worn out and dropping 
to pieces, agreed to its being taken down, and 
promised to have the walls cleaned, if they did 
not want fresh cloth for hangings, whicli was 
an expense he could not afford. Lauhcelot 
said he would take it all down himself, to save 
as much trouble and cost as he could ; and 
that very evening the work of dismantling the 
room of its dirty, moldering arras was com- 
menced. It was not a pleasant task, for the 
mold and dust of years hung about it ; and 
when it was down the walls looked bare and 
comfortless, and made Mrs. Aylmer shiver as 
she looked at them. 

They looked better when they were cleaned 
and made ready for Launcelot ; and Bessie 
was eager for him to begin his work of paint- 
ing. She believed, if he could only become 
thoroughly taken up with this work, the demon 
of revenge would gradually be cast out of his 
heart. It was not the highest and best way 
of subduing it, but the best possible for her 
brother now, she thought ; and by this lower 
rung in the ladder — by this work — he might 
mount higher ; and so she thanked God, and 


1 82 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

took courage, and did all in her power to 
soothe her mother under the discomfort of liv- 
ing with bare walls, and encouraged Launce 
to persevere with his task. 

So the weeks of autumn and winter passed 
more cheerily than could have been expected. 
Launcelot’s salary kept them in comparative 
comfort — at least, they did not want for any 
thing actually necessary ; although Mrs. Ayl- 
mer frequently sighed as she looked at Bessie 
lying so helpless on her couch, and thought of 
their old home, and of the facilities that 
would afford for lightening the poor girks 
affliction. 

Bessie herself never complained — never ex- 
pressed a wish to go back to Aylmer Court. 
She was willing to talk about it when she saw 
that it pleased her mother ; but even when, as 
sometimes happened, she could not help long- 
ing for a peep at the world beyond the glimpse 
afforded by her window, she carefully restrained 
all expression of it, for fear of arousing fresh 
discontent in her mother and Audrey. 

She thought she saw signs in her brother 
that this life of stern duty and hard work was 
good for him — better than a life at court ; for 
she feared now that if they had continued in 
the favor of the king, and Launcelot had be- 


Hopes and Fears, 183 

come a courtier, he would have been little bet- 
ter than the gay, reckless gallants that were 
often the terror and scandal of quiet citizens, 
who beat the watch at night, and set all law 
and order at defiance. They did not hear 
much court news now, but the little that did 
reach them made Mrs. Aylmer shake her head 
and murmur that things were not so when she 
attended the court. The citizens were mak- 
ing loud complaints of the king’s extravagance, 
and how he thought of nothing but his own 
pleasures. Some, Launcelot said, went even 
so far as to say they had been too hasty in in- 
viting him to take the throne. 

He ought never to have been deprived of 
it, and then he would not have learned wicked 
French ways,” said Mrs. Aylmer, who always 
found an excuse for the king, if she could not 
justify his doings. But even she was becom- 
ing aware that this English court was no fit 
place for pure-minded girls like her daughters ; 
and so she talked less about Audrey going to 
court, and more about the pleasures of a sim- 
ple country life, and thus whiled away the dull 
wintry days, while her fingers were busy mend- 
ing, altering, and contriving, so that they 
should maintain an appearance of respectable 
if faded gentility, which Bessie’s nimble fin- 


1 84 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

gers with her lace pillow also helped them to 
keep up. 

Launcelot occasionally brought home little 
scraps of gossip of things that were occupy- 
ing public attention, and among them was the 
news of a projected Act of Indulgence, that 
would give liberty to worship God not only 
to Puritans, but to Papists also. The king 
was known to favor this, for the queen was a 
Papist, of course; and the queen-mother, who 
had now returned to England, was surrounded 
by Roman Catholics, who were eager to see 
their faith triumphant again in the country, 
and saw in this Act of Indulgence the begin- 
ning of the end to be accomplished. 

Mrs. Aylmer shook her head when Launce- 
lot told them that this was the story being 
talked about in London. My dear, the king 
would never try to bring back popery,’' she 
said. The queen-mother is a French prin- 
cess, and a Catholic, of course ; but Charles — ” 

‘‘ He don’t care a groat which religion is 
uppermost, so long as his pleasures are not 
interfered with,” said Launcelot, quickly ; 

but he wants to keep on good terms with 
France ; and those about the queen-mother’s 
court are constantly intriguing, they say, to 
bring back the old religion.” 


Hopes and Fears. 


I8S 


O dear, I should not like that ; should you, 
mother?’’ said Bessie. Do you really think 
there is any danger of it, Launce ? ” she asked, 
turning to her brother. 

Well, I don’t know. You see, if they pass 
this Act of Indulgence, and the queen and her 
ladies, and the queen-mother and her court, 
go publicly to a Roman Catholic church, oth- 
ers will go too, — people who don’t care much 
about religion at all ; but this will help to 
make it fashionable, you see ; and so the thing 
will grow gradually, until the people come to 
like the music and singing and splendid vest- 
ments better than plain Puritanism or the 
Church of England.” 

But it will be for the Puritans as well as 
Papists,” said Bessie, thinking of her friend 
. Mary Maitland’s father. She had not seen her 
very recently, for there had been some cool- 
ness consequent upon their conversation about 
the late king, which neither had quite got over 
yet ; but she had begun to long for a visit 
from Mary now, and Launcelot’s talk made 
her very welcome when she came, a few days 
afterward. 

“ I have been waiting to see you,” said Bes- 
sie, eagerly, when Mary came in. They had 
generally had the room to themselves before, 


1 86 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

but Mrs. Aylmer and Audrey were both at 
home to-day ; and, although they had long 
since made up their minds that they did not like 
Mary because she was a Puritan, they too wel- 
comed her as a friend of Bessie. It was too 
cold now to sit apart in the window, and Bes- 
sie’s couch was near the fire to-day ; and so 
they all sat together, and the conversation be- 
came general. Bessie began it by asking 
whether Mr. Maitland had another curacy yet. 

“ O no ; you see the Act of Uniformity will 
prevent him from preaching in any church/’ 
said Mary, with a faint color rising in her 
cheeks as she recalled the last conversation. 

But this Act of Indulgence that is talked 
of will alter all that,” said Mrs. Aylmer, look- 
ing up from her work. 

“ My father hopes it will not pass,” said 
Mary, faintly. 

But it would enable him to preach again, 
would it not?” asked Mrs. Aylmer. 

O yes ; and that is why I cannot help hop- 
ing it will become law. It is not that we have 
lost our means only, but my father seems un- 
happy without his accustomed w^ork. He 
used to hold a little meeting in a house among 
the very poor people, and when he found the 
new curate did not go near that part of the 


Hopes and Fears. 


187 


parish, he thought he might resume that with- 
out offending any body, and I was so thank- 
ful there was something he could do again ; 
but last week he was warned that if he did not 
give it up he would be punished/* 

'' I suppose you have sufficient to live 
upon?** said Mrs. Aylmer, glancing at Mary*s 
neat warm cloak and hood. 

“ O yes ; there always is just sufficient. My 
father does a little scrivener*s work sometimes, 
and I have learned to make lace, and can sell 
it.** 

But surely that is not all you have to de- 
pend upon? ** said the lady. 

“ Yes, it is. You see my father was only a 
curate, and never had a very large stipend — 
enough to live in comfort and help the poor a 
little, but not enough to save much,’* said 
Mary. 

“ And now you say he hopes this Act of 
Indulgence will not pass, although it would 
enable him to take a church and place you 
all in comfort?** said Mrs. Aylmer. 

Mary nodded, and the tears rose to her eyes. 
How could she tell these people, who were 
not her friends like Bessie was, that she feared 
her father was mistaken in his opposition, but 
that he was doing all in his power to arouse 


1 88 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

the public feeling against this measure, though 
he could earn but the barest pittance now ; 
and, work as long as she might, lace-making 
would barely save them from actual starva- 
tion? When she first heard of this proposed 
Act of Indulgence, how delighted she was. 
“ I thought all our troubles were over,” she 
said, speaking to Mrs. Aylmer, “ when I heard 
there was a chance of my lather being able to 
preach again ; and he thought the same at 
first, I think. But now he is afraid if this 
Act of Parliament becomes law, the Papists 
will — ” 

“ Why, that is just what Launce says,” in- 
ternipted Audrey. ” He told us the other 
night we should all be Papists again soon.” 

“ Did he really say so? Do people really 
think that?” exclaimed Mary, in a tone of 
surprise. 

“ Is not that what your father fears ? ” asked 
Mrs. Aylmer. 

“Yes; but I thought it could not be so 
bad, and I said it was only fair that the Pa- 
pists should be able to worship God as they 
liked.” 

“ My dear, they can do that in their own 
private chapels,” said Mrs. Aylmer, who be- 
gan to feel more kindly disposed toward Mary, 


189 


Hopes and Fears, 

as she saw the signs of trouble in her gentle 
face. “ I am speaking of the queen and the 
queen-mother, who are both Catholics — they 
can do this now ; and if they would leave off 
intriguing — or rather, if the pope did not send 
emissaries to England to try and re-establish 
his power here — they might be able to have 
freedom to worship God publicly ; but if they 
did that now, the Romish faith would soon be 
fashionable again, and no one could tell what 
would happen next. No, no ; we cannot 
afford such religious liberty as that yet ; but it 
is hard to think that your father should be de- 
prived of his to secure us against the other.*' 
O, I am so glad to hear you say this,’* 
said Mary, with a sigh of relief. My father 
thinks the same, I know ; but ** — and there 
she stopped short, and the color rose to her 
cheek again, for she knew she had thought 
less about this public matter than she did of 
their own straitened means — I am afraid I 
thought more of — of things at home than of 
the good of the country,” she added, in a 
faltering tone. 

“ It was quite natural, I am sure, my dear,” 
said Mrs. Aylmer. “ You have younger 
brothers and sisters, too, have you not ? ** 

Yes, four. They are very good and brave. 


igo At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

and try not to give me any trouble ; but they 
cannot quite understand why they should not 
have dinner every day, as they used to do,” 
said Mary, trying to smile, although there was 
a mist in her eyes as she recalled the little 
hungry faces at home. 

My dear, is it as bad as that ? ” exclaimed 
Mrs. Aylmer, in a tone of tender compassion 
that quite upset poor Mary’s firmness. 

‘‘It is worse — worse for my father!” she 
sobbed ; “ for he will eat scarcely any thing 
now.” 

“ And yet you say he hopes this Act of In- 
dulgence will not pass, when it would lift him 
out of all this trouble ! ” exclaimed the lady. 

Mary dried her eyes, and smiled then — 
smiled triumphantly. “ He is doing all he can 
to prevent it,” she said ; “ and I will help him 
now. I am afraid I have been a great trouble 
to him lately, but I did not know the danger 
was so real. I am so glad I came here to- 
day ; it will help me to bear up, now I know' it 
is a real danger w'e are struggling against.” 


The Victory of the Vanquished. 191 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE VICTORY OF THE VANQUISHED. 

M ary did not pay a very long visit. For 
one thing, she could not afford to lose 
the time from her lace-making ; and now she 
had heard from Mrs. Aylmer that this pro- 
posed Act of Indulgence was, as her father 
declared, the thin edge of the wedge to intro- 
duce Popery again, she was anxious to go back 
and assure him of her sympathy in his efforts 
to get it defeated in the House of Commons. 
Hitherto she had done all she could to per- 
suade him that the proposal was intended 
to soften the rigor of the Act of Uniformity — 
a message of peace from the king in his justly- 
offended Puritan subjects ; but since the Ayl- 
mers took the same view of it as her father, 
and saw in it an attempt to re-introduce 
popery, she felt that the danger must be real 
indeed, and blamed herself severely for being 
so blinded by her selfishness as not to per- 
ceive it before, or believe her father’s as- 
surance that that was the secret of the king’s 




192 At the Sign of the Blue Boar, 

anxiety for its passage through the Com- 
mons. 

But as she walked homeward that wintry 
day, and thought of the scanty fire at home, 
and the poor fare, and how all this might be 
altered if the proposed Indulgence could only 
become law, she could not help wishing that 
her first thought of this measure had been the 
true one ; for O ! it was hard to sit, day after 
day, working her bobbins and thread, and 
then barely able to keep the wolf from the 
door. 

But while she was ruminating thus sadly, 
the Aylmers were eagerly discussing how they 
could help her, out of their slender means. 
Mrs. Aylmer had been deeply touched. “ My 
dear Bessie, 1 never thought these Puritans 
could be so brave and true to their country,” 
she said. “ I have always looked upon them 
as a miserable, low-minded set, who only 
thought of themselves and their whining re- 
ligion ; but here is this man, while his children 
are wanting bread, deliberately pushing it 
away from himself and them, rather than see 
the country endangered by popery again ; and 
that girl lifting her head, and smiling so 
proudly, when she was convinced that her 
father was in the right. She looked like a 


The Victory of the Vanquished. 193 

queen ; and I shall always love and honor her, 
Puritan though she may be.” 

My father said there were some good men 
among the Puritans,” Audrey ventured to 
say. 

But being good men, how could they be 
Roundheads?” exclaimed Mrs. Aylmer. 

‘‘ Don't you think we ought to help poor 
Mary, now they are in such trouble?” said 
practical Bessie, knowing by experience that 
little good would follow, if the discussion 
drifted in the direction of the political differ- 
ences that divided them. 

My dear, I should be glad to help her if 
I could ; but what can we do? If we only had 
Aylmer Court now, I would make him my 
chaplain directly,” said Mrs. Aylmer. 

Thank you for that promise,” said Bessie, 
smiling ; “ but while we are waiting until we 
can keep a chaplain, don’t you think we could 
do something ? ” 

“ What could we do ? I assure you, sweet- 
heart, Launcelot's money barely enables us to 
keep out of debt ; and you know the Aylmer 
motto,” said her mother. 

‘‘ But I do owe Mary something — I owe her 
a great deal,” said Bessie, ‘‘ if it were only for 
the time she has spent talking to me. Don't 

13 


194 At the Sign of the Bt.ue Boar. 

you think I might make some lace for her ? ’’ 
she added, timidly. 

‘‘ Make lace to sell ! ” exclaimed Audrey. 

Yes, why not ? You have enough to wear 
for the present/' said Bessie. 

“ But to w^ork for money — to sell the lace 
you make ! " said Audrey, in great disgust. 

But Mary does it," said Bessie. 

‘‘ But she is not Mistress Aylmer," said her 
mother, with some dignity. 

‘‘ No ; but she was Mistress Maitland, a 
minister’s daughter, whom you say you can 
love and honor for her brave devotion to her 
country." 

Yes, yes," said Mrs. Aylmer, hastily ; ‘‘ but 
there is a great difference between you." 

Yes, I am afraid there is," said Bessie, 
sadly. I am afraid if I had little to eat I 
should think more of how I could get bread 
easily than of England turning to popery 
again. I should never be so brave as Mary." 

She is brave, and I honor her for it," said 
Mrs. Aylmer. 

Then let me make some lace, to show we 
do honor her, and are willing to help her in 
the struggle. She could sell it with her own 
I dare say, and nobody need know any thing 
about it," said Bessie, eagerly. 


The Victory of the Vanquished, 195 

But what could you do ? It is such a 
little thing for an Aylmer to give ! O, if we 
only had our own again ! ” exclaimed the lady, 
fervently. 

“ Well, then, perhaps we should never have 
heard of Mary Maitland, or known that these 
non-conforming ministers were such brave, true 
patriots,’' said Bessie. “ But I could make 
some lace and give to Mary, and she would 
feel and know then that we do sympathize 
with her. It would almost seem like helping 
to save England from popery myself,” added 
Bessie, pleadingly. 

Well, sweetheart, you shall make the lace 
if you wish,” said Mrs. Aylmer, at last. “ I 
have plenty for our own use ; and if it only 
pays for a few dinners for those poor children, 
it will be better than nothing, perhaps ; only 
it is not what an Aylmer should do — work for 
money, even to give away.” 

But even this half-grudging concession sat- 
isfied Bessie, and her lace pillow was soon 
placed before her, and her nimble fingers plied 
the bobbins more industriously than ever ; 
and thus the wan, cold days of January and 
February slipped away, and men were talking 
more and more of the king’s plan for Indulging 
weak consciences, which Parliament was as 


196 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

eagerly discussing, and many, like Bessie, se- 
cretly hoped would soon pass into law ; for it 
was so hard to think of poor ministers, like Mr. 
Maitland, being turned out with their families. 

But, to the relief of many of those who 
loved their country more than life, the meas- 
ure was thrown out by the House of Com- 
mons, in spite of the court influence that was 
brought to bear upon it. The active and se- 
cret Popish intrigues going on at the court of 
the queen-mother were sufficient to rouse the 
alarm of all true Englishmen ; and, at the risk 
of offending the king, who had suddenly 
shown such tender concern for the consciences 
of his subjects, they refused to make a law 
that would give any advantage to Papists. 

Many a poor minister, looking at his pale, 
hungry-eyed children, doubtless felt a pang of 
disappointment when they heard the news ; 
hut then, too, there were brave hearts, who, 
like Mr. Maitland, could thank God for his 
mercy to England, even though that mercy 
meant the slow martyrdom of poverty and 
hunger for themselves and their little ones. 

Bessie could not help feeling disappointed 
for her friend when she heard the news, and 
she worked more industriously than ever at 
her lace pillow to help her. 


The Victory of the Vanquished, 197 

But as the spring advanced the old anxiety 
about Launcelot crept back into Bessie's life. 
During the winter he could do little beyond 
drawing the outlines of his projected fresco- 
painting ; but both had looked forward to the 
light evenings, when color could be added. 
And now this time had come, the old restless- 
ness seemed to have taken possession of her 
brother again ; and, instead of turning to his 
self-appointed task when he came home from 
the Navy Office, he ate his supper with all pos- 
sible dispatch and then hurried out. Mrs. 
Aylmer felt no uneasiness about this. To her 
it was quite natural that Launcelot should want 
to go and lounge away an hour in Paul’s 
Walk ; and she thought Bessie very unreason- 
able when she ventured to express her disap- 
pointment at the painting being given up just 
now. But Bessie did not believe her brother 
spent his time in Paul’s Walk, although she 
did not say so. She was afraid he went to 
watch the Quakers’ meeting-house, near Al- 
dersgate, once more eager to revenge himself 
upon Sir Harry Oaklands ; and her heart was 
filled with sorrow and disappointment as she 
thought how all her well-laid plans had failed, 
just when she felt most secure of success. O, 
how she wished she had the use of her limbs, 


198 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

and could accompany him in these evening 
walks ! Her very presence, she felt sure, 
would deter him from committing any rash 
deed ; but now she felt so helpless, so useless ; 
and she thought she had seen something in 
Launcelot lately that indicated a struggling 
toward the higher life— a reaching after the 
holy Light that he had seemed to turn his 
back upon. But if this feeling of bitter re- 
venge once more crept back to his heart, there 
would soon be an end to the struggle, and 
then — At this point Bessie burst into tears, 
which was but the avenue of prayer, and, after 
once more commending him to God, she felt 
comforted. 

Indeed, if she had only known it, she had 
much cause for comfort and thankfulness ; for 
it was a mixed feeling, rather than one of bit- 
ter hatred, that took Launcelot back to the 
neighborhood of the Quakers' meeting-room. 
He wanted to see his foe in his humiliating 
position once more, as he told himself; but 
there was also a secret feeling underlying this, 
that he himself was scarcely conscious of, and 
certainly would not have acknowledged even 
to himself, and that was a desire to hear more 
of what these strange people would say at their 
-meetings. They were so thoroughly in earnest 


The Victory of the Vanquished, 199 

— believed so fully in the work of the Spirit 
of God in the heart of man — that he felt curi- 
ous and eager to hear more of their doctrine 
and preaching ; and so he went once again to 
the little meeting-house, hidden away behind 
the larger buildings near Aldersgate. 

But this time he saw nothing of his foe : a 
stranger engaged in prayer and exhortation ; 
and Launcelot persuaded himself that he was 
disappointed at not seeing the polished court- 
ier demean himself among these humble folk ; 
but he, nevertheless, listened with rapt atten- 
tion to the earnest prayers and the address 
that followed, and came again and again to the 
little meeting-house. 

These meetings had to be carried on in se- 
cret, for more than once had the sheriffs en- 
tered this very room and carried off to prison 
those whom they considered the leaders of the 
movement ; and the authorities were again 
watching for an opportunity to make another 
raid upon the place, and Launcelot unwittingly 
helped them. They watched him several times 
turn into the little passage leading to the 
meeting-room, and at length followed him, but 
did not enter the room at once. That even- 
ing Sir Harry Oaklands was present, and again 
led the devotions ; but Launcelot had almost 


200 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

forgotten that it was the man he had sworn 
to be revenged upon, as he sat and listened to 
the words of life that fell from his lips ; and it 
was not until the sheriff and his men entered 
the room, and rudely seized hold of the 
preacher and several other members of the 
meeting, that Launcelot remembered who he 
was. Then the more kindly feelings of other 
days asserted themselves, and, instead of re- 
joicing over the trouble that had befallen him, 
he hastily stepped forward, and demanded why 
they arrested his friend. 

‘‘ Launcelot Aylmer, if I am not mistaken ? 
said the prisoner, in a tone of wondering 
surprise. 

The sheriff’s men turned upon him in no 
less wonder. ‘‘ Thou dost crow loudly for a 
canting Quaker,” said one, eyeing Launcelot’s 
dress and sword rather curiously. 

Unhand Sir Harry Oaklands, and we will 
let these knaves know whether we are Quak- 
ers,” said Launcelot, grasping his sword as he 
spoke. 

Nay, nay, friend ; I deny it not. Put back 
thy sword. But I thank thee for the kindness 
that bid thee raise thine arm in my defense,” 
said Sir Harry, quickly. He had yielded him- 
self without the least resistance to the hands 


The Victory of the Vanquished, 20 1 

of his assailants, who handled him much more 
roughly than was needful, until they heard his 
name and title, when they somewhat relaxed 
their grasp, and allowed him to hold out his 
hand to Launcelot. 

But Launcelot hesitated. It was one thing 
to defend a foe, but quite another to take his 
hand in amity and good fellowship ; and, in- 
stead of grasping it, he said : I should like 
to have a word with you first, Oaklands.” 

Sir Harry looked surprised and greatly hurt. 
‘‘ Haven't you seen Rosalind? ” he^asked. 

Seen Rosalind ! " repeated Launcelot, 
fiercely. Have you given any body a 
chance of seeing her?" 

Yes, certainly ; I brought her to Lon- 
don away from the king, and placed her in 
safety until you could claim her," said Sir 
Harry. 

Then Launcelot held out his hand. ‘‘ For- 
give me," he said, for misjudging you ! Bes- 
sie always said I was mistaken." 

How is Bessie?" asked Sir Harry, as he 
grasped Launcelot's hand once more. 

But the sheriff interposed at this point. 
His time was too valuable to stand listening 
to the reminiscences of old friends, and he 
bade his men clear the room, and secure their 


202 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

prisoners preparatory to taking them to Bride- 
well. 

The room was already cleared of all but the 
unwelcome intruders and those whom they 
had seized ; for the rest had been glad to 
make their escape as soon as they saw the 
sheriff — all but Launcelot, whose dress and 
sword and un-Quaker like pugnacity toward 
the sheriff’s men had saved him from arrest. 

Come here out of curiosity, or to see your 
friend, I suppose ? ” said the sheriff, as they 
were preparing to march away with their 
prisoners. 

“ Have you been before, Launce?” asked 
Sir Harry, unconsciously dropping into the 
old form of address as Launcelot walked close 
by his side. 

Two or three times,” he replied, evasively. 

I wanted to see you again.” 

Did you know I should be there? Who 
told you I was a Quaker ? I see none of the 
court now,” said Sir Harry. 

Hush ! don’t speak so loud ; we’ll talk an- 
other time. I wonder whether they will ac- 
cept me as bail for you. They will take you 
before the lord mayor, I expect ? ” 

“ I suppose so ; but it does not matter,” 
said Sir Harry, indifferently. 


The Victory of the V^anqiLis/ied, 203 

But three months in Bridewell would/’ 
said Launcelot, '' and I will save you from 
that, if I can.” 

It is not the first time I have been arrested 
and imprisoned ; and why should I escape, 
when my friends are punished for no crime, 
except obeying the law of God, and refusing 
to obey the ordinance of man? Trouble not 
thyself about me, but seek for holiness for — ” 
“ No preaching, an it please thee,” inter- 
rupted the sheriff, roughly. If the lord 
mayor will take thy friend as bail to-morrow 
morning, well and good ; but I suffer no 
Quaker discoursing in mine ears.” 

Nay, Master Sheriff, thou hast heard none/’ 
said Launcelot, quickly. “ We have but dis- 
coursed of old times, when we were friends to- 
gether, and that thou canst testify to-morrow. 
What time will the court sit ? ” he asked ; for 
he thought it would be better for both of them 
that he should leave now, and he hurried home 
to tell the news. 


204 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 


CHAPTER XV. 

ROSALIND. 

B efore Launcelot reached home doubts 
crept into his mind as to the wisdom of 
so readily accepting as true the explanation 
given by Sir Harry Oaklands about the sud- 
den disappearance of himself and his cousin 
from Flanders ; and yet, after listening to 
him, as he had done twice, at these Quaker 
meetings, how could he suspect him of the 
vile treachery he once thought he had com- 
mitted ? He went in looking gloomy and sad ; 
and Bessie, who was always on the lookout 
for his return in the evening, at once noticed 
how disturbed he looked. 

“ What is it, Launce ? what has happened ? ” 
she asked, anxiously. “ Have — have you seen 
Sir Harry Oaklands again?” 

“ Seen him and spoken to him,” replied her 
brother. “ Bessie, he says Rosalind is here in 
London,” he added. 

” Then mother was right, after all,” said Au- 
drey, ” and she did see her in the street one day.” 


Rosalind. 2Q$ 

‘‘Saw who?’’ asked Bessie and Launcelot 
in the same breath. 

‘‘ Cousin Rosalind. O dear! mother said I 
was not to say a word,” suddenly exclaimed 
Audrey. 

“Where did mother see her?” demanded 
Launce. “ I think I ought to have been told 
at once,” he added, in an injured tone. 

“ It could do no good to talk about it, 
mother said ; for she could not be quite posi- 
tive it was Rosalind : she only saw her for a 
minute in Wood Street.” 

“ But mother ought to have told me. When 
did this happen ? ” demanded her brother. 

“ Two or three weeks ago. Mother felt 
sure Rosalind saw her, and hurried along to get 
out of the way, as though she did not wish to 
see her.” # 

“ What nonsense you are talking, Audrey, 
as though she would not be glad to see 
mother!” said Launcelot, haughtily. 

“ I am only telling you what mother said,” 
replied Audrey. “ She tried to overtake Rosa- 
lind, but she almost ran to get out of her 
way.” 

“What did Sir Harry Oaklands say about 
her? ” ask Bessie. 

“ There was no time to listen to partic- 


2o6 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

ulars ; the sheriff had arrested him, and would 
not wait.’* 

The sheriff arrested Sir Harry Oaklands ! ” 
repeated Audrey, whose recollection of the 
gay, handsome courtier who used to visit them 
in Flanders, made the mention of ‘‘sheriff” 
and “ arrest ” in connection with him seem 
utterly absurd. 

“Yes; he was hauled off to Bridewell this 
evening, and is to be taken before the lord 
mayor in the morning. I wdsh I could find 
out something about Rosalind at once ! ” he 
added, with a deep-drawn sigh. 

Bessie looked up into his face anxiously, and 
slipped her hand into his. 

“You have forgiven him, Launce, haven’t 
you ?” she whispered. 

He started at the questian ; and then, look- 
ing gently at the pale, anxious face, he said : 
“ Something has killed all the hatred that I 
felt toward him. I almost forgot that I ever 
meant to kill him when I saw him to-night.” 

“ O, Launce! you are seeking the holy 
Light, then ? ” said Bessie, joy beaming in her 
face. 

“ I don’t know — I don’t feel sure about any 
thing ; I almost blame myself for believing 
him so readily ; but somehow I could not 


Rosalind, 


207 


doubt him then ; and he shook hands as in 
the old days, and I promised to be bail for 
him to-morrow/' 

‘‘ I am so glad, I could almost jump," said 
Bessie, the tears shining in her eyes. 

But Launcelot felt little of the joy of a 
victor, although he had conquered in a strug- 
gle that had threatened to maim his whole 
life, if it had not been fought out, and right- 
eousness gained the day. He was full of 
doubt and perplexity still, when Mrs. Aylmer 
returned from a visit she had just been to pay 
Mary Maitland. See, too, was looking anx- 
ious and perturbed, and the ever-watchful 
Bessie noticed it at once, and thought there 
must be fresh trouble in her friend's home. 

Is Mary ill, mother?" she asked. 

But Mrs. Aylmer only shook her head, and 
for a minute or two could only look at the 
wondering group in silence. At length she 
said, in a trembling voice : I have seen Rosa- 
lind." 

O, mother!" exclaimed all three in a 
breath ; but Bessie was the first to recover her 
senses sufficiently to think of her mother. 

“ Launce, get a little of that Canary the 
doctor brought me. Mother, you must take 
some," she added, as Mrs. Aylmer feebly pro- 


2o8 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

tested that she did not want it. “ Now, Au- 
drey, take mother’s hood away, and fetch the 
footstool,” she said, taking the direction of 
affairs, so as to give her mother time to re- 
cover from her emotion. Mrs. Aylmer drank 
a little of the Canary, and soon recovered her 
usual equanimity, while Launcelot sat eagerly 
waiting for her explanation, but afraid to ask 
a single question. 

Yes, I have seen Rosalind,” resumed Mrs. 
Aylmer ; she is living with Mary Maitland.” 

O, mother ! and Mary never told us ! ” ex- 
claimed impulsive Audrey. 

“ Mary did not know we should feel any in- 
terest in the young governess her father took 
into his house out of charity,” said Mrs. Ayl- 
mer, with a quiver in the proud tones of her 
voice as she pronounced the word “ charity.” 

Launcelot started to his feet ; “ Rosalind a 
governess ! ” he exclaimed. Oaklands never 
told me that ; I will make him smart for 
this — ” 

Launce, sit down and hear me out,” com- 
manded his mother. Sir Harry Oaklands be- 
haved like a gentleman ; he treated the foolish 
girl with every consideration and respect ; but, 
for her own sake, he was bound to find her 
another home than his; and where could he 


Rosalind. 


209 


place her better than with a minister who, 
among all parties, bore the character of being 
a kind-hearted gentleman? — yes, and he is a 
gentleman ! ’’ added the lady, vehemently. 

“ But, mother, you have not told us all,’’ said 
Audrey. 

Mrs. Aylmer shook her head. 

I wish I had no more to tell,” she said, 
with a sigh ; ‘^but I tell you once for all, and 
then we must try and forget it. Rosalind got 
tired of our poVerty, it seems, and very readily 
agreed to leave us, and go with the king to 
Paris, where the foolish girl believed wealth 
and splendor awaited her. Sir Harry Oak- 
lands heard of the plot, and resolved to rescue 
her even against her will, and brought her 
here to London, where they were already talk- 
ing of inviting the king to come back. He 
placed her in lodgings with an elderly gentle- 
woman, thinking we should speedily return. 
Meanwhile he fell in with some Quakers, and 
soon joined their society, and, of course, tried 
to bring Rosalind to his way of thinking when- 
ever he went to see her. Things went on very 
well for sometime, until the old lady died, and 
Sir Harry lost nearly all he possessed through 
being a Quaker, when, finding we had not re- 
turned, he placed her with this Mr. Maitland, 

14 


210 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

telling him she was an orphan, whose only 
friends were in Flanders, but not mentioning 
our name. So you see Mary knew nothing of 
her being our relative ; and if she heard our 
name mentioned, she never said she knew us; 
for when she saw me one day in Wood Street 
she tried to get away before. I could recognize 
her.’’ 

Launcelot heaved a deep sigh as his mother 
concluded her story. “ It seems almost im- 
possible to believe such a tale of Rosalind ! ” 
he said, in atone of bitter disappointment. 

I wish it had been a stranger I had to tell 
such a story about ; but she is my sister’s 
child, and poor Mary was not a brave woman, 
so we must be merciful to this poor, silly Rosa- 
lind,” said Mrs. Aylmer, feeling that Launce- 
lot was likely to be too severe in his judgments 
upon the culprit. 

I am bitterly grieved and humiliated,” he 
said, shading his eyes that they might not see 
the emotion he felt. 

'‘Yes: but you must not let it make you 
unjust,” said his mother. " You must remem- 
ber that, to us, our poverty was a voluntary 
renunciation of wealth and luxury for the sake 
of our king, and we bore it bravely. You, my 
children, bore your part nobly,” added the 


Rosalind. 


21 1 


lady, with a quiver in her voice ; “but, to Ros- 
alind, the little contrivances we had to make, 
and the privations we were obliged to submit 
to, were so many grinding, degrading shifts 
that she hated and constantly rebelled against.” 

“ And she often had little things that we did 
not,” put in Audrey. 

“Yes, my dear, I know she had; for I felt 
it would do you less harm to be deprived of 
some little luxury than it would her; but all 
my efforts to make her more content with her 
position were in vain. I could not make her 
feel and see that poverty was a noble thing, 
if nobly borne ; and she was ready to welcome 
any escape from it.” 

“ But what about her now?” asked Launce- 
lot. “ Is she living with the poor minister’s 
family still ? ” 

“Yes; but she is helping them now, I am 
happy to say. She is the ‘ friend ’ who taught 
Mary lace-making ; and if any thing can help 
her to become a noble woman, it will be living 
with such a family as these Maitlands.” 

“ How are. they getting on ?’ he asked. 

“ Mary says she is learning to work faster, 
and they can sell all the lace they make ; she 
and Rosalind both have pillows now. She al- 
most cried when I gave her what you had 


212 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 


made, Bessie, and bade me not let you make 
any more, for fear of hurting your back.” 

“ As if any thing could hurt me now,” said 
Bessie, with a low, soft laugh. 

Is Rosalind coming to see us ? ” asked 
Audrey, with a glance at her brother. 

^‘Nothing was said about it,” replied Mrs. 
Aylmer. ‘‘ Mr. Maitland was much surprised 
when he heard that I was her aunt, and that 
she had seen me so recently in Wood Street. ” 

‘'What did she say about that, mother?” 
asked Audrey, 

“ Weil, I think she is honestly ashamed of 
herself; and this, you know, is often the first 
step to something better. She certainly could 
not be in better hands than she is; for Mr. 
Maitland can make every allowance for her 
rash folly, without bating one jot of the horri- 
ble sin it had almost led her to commit. Now, 
sweethearts, we will let the matter drop for 
awhile,” added the lady. 

“ Does she know that the king will not speak 
to any of us now? ” asked Audrey. 

“ I did not tell her,” my daughter. 

“ Having heard all this, we know that Sir 
Harry Oaklands was not the mischief-maker 
we supposed,” said Bessie, after some minutes’ 
silence. 


Rosalind, 


213 


Yes; the mystery is explained now,” said 
Launcelot, with a sigh, looking as though any 
other explanation would be preferable to this ; 
and then he hastened to turn the subject by 
telling his mother of his meeting with Sir 
Harry Oaklands, and his promise to be bail 
for him the next morning. 

I am glad you did, my son,” said Mrs. 
Aylmer ; “ not that I like Quakers and secta- 
ries, but I always liked Sir Harry, and it may 
be we shall be able to show him the folly of 
these notions. I only hope the lord mayor 
will accept you as bail,” she added. 

Launcelot looked suddenly dismayed. This 
reminded him of a fact that he had previously 
forgotten, in spite of frequent reminders — that 
he was no longer Aylmer, of Aylmer Court, but 
simply a subordinate clerk in the Navy Office. 
“ Do you think they will refuse to accept me 
as bail ? ” he said. 

I should think not,” said his mother. 
“You will tell them you are a clerk in the 
Navy Office.” 

Launcelot looked at Bessie, then at his 
mother, in surprise. It was clear that the dis- 
cipline of the last few monthsffiad not been 
without its uses to her as well as to himself, or 
she could not so calmly have told him to pro- 


214 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

claim his disgrace — as she held all work to be 
only a few months before. Very well, mother/* 
he said ; I will do what I can for Sir Harry.*’ 

He had to go to the Navy Office in the 
morning, before attending the sitting of the 
lord mayor’s court, to ask Mr. Pepys for leave 
of absence for a few hours ; for that gentleman 
kept a sharp eye upon his clerks, and there 
was no shirking the work under his control. 
But, at the same time, he was always ready 
to meet any reasonable request of his clerks, 
and so it was with the fullest assurance that it 
would be granted that Launcelot made his 
request. 

But for once Mr. Pepys looked dubious. 

Quakers again ! ” he repeated, testily ; ‘‘you 
had better have nothing to do with them, 
Aylmer.*’ 

“ But this man is my friend, and has been of 
signal service to a relative ; therefore — ” 

“ Well, well, do as you like ; only, you know, 
every body hates these Quakers, and I thought 
you wished to stand well with the king,” said 
politic Mr. Pepys. 

“ That is all over now, sir; and, besides, it is 
my duty to stand by Sir Harry Oaklands, what- 
ever he may be. But why should the Quak- 
ers be hated so much?” he asked, earnestly. 


Rosalind, 


215 


Mr. Pepys shook his head. ‘‘They’re a 
troublesome lot of people — not at all respecta- 
ble. Sir William Penn has sent his son to 
Paris that he may forget the pestilent notions 
he has learned of them ; and your friend had 
better go there, too.” 

“ But I may attend the lord mayor’s court 
this mornirig?” said Lauhcelot. 

“Yes, you must, I suppose; only I would 
rather that a Navy Office clerk had nothing to 
do with Quakers.” 

Launcelot speedily had more ample proof of 
the unpopularity of Quakers. As soon as it 
was whispered among the crowd of loungers 
round the court that he was a friend of one of 
the prisoners, he was hustled and hooted, and 
all sorts of disparaging remarks were leveled 
at him ; and he was treated with little more 
courtesy by the officials themselves, when he 
appealed to them for protection. It was a 
painful scene altogether, to see harmless, inof- 
fensive men, like these Quakers, browbeaten 
and treated with the utmost scorn ; and, al- 
though Sir Harry Oaklands spoke in defense 
of himself and his companions, contending 
that they had broken no law, the fact that 
they refused to take the customary oath — al- 
leging that to do so woufd be to break the law 


2i6 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

of God — was enough to condemn them ; and 
it was with difficulty that Launcelot obtained 
the release of his friend until they had again 
to appear before the magistrate. 

It was the usual plan to vex and annoy these 
people by repeated demands; for the law 
against them was yet scarcely defined enough 
to warrant a conviction, if they were sent to 
trial ; and so it rested very much with the 
popular voice or the caprice of the magis- 
trates whether they were severely punished or 
speedily released. 

Sir Harry would scarcely accept his own 
release on bail, when he found that his com- 
panions were to be sent to prison again ; 
but Launcelot overcame his scruples at last, 
and he consented to go with him to the Blue 
Boar, and hear all that had befallen his friends 
since they parted. 


The Plague. 


217 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE PLAGUE. 

T he intimacy once recommenced between 
Sir Harry Oaklands and the Aylmer 
family soon ripened into a warmer friendship 
than ever; and he was a constant visitor at 
their house, whenever he was staying in Lon- 
don. Launcelot, too, without actually adopt- 
ing a Quaker garb or Quaker peculiarities, 
soon became so imbued with the spirit that 
actuated these people, from attending their 
meetings frequently, that the unhappy, rest- 
less dissatisfaction with his present life was 
almost forgotten ; and he, like his sister, was 
learning that he was only a stranger and pil- 
grim journeying to a better country, even a 
heavenly. 

Mrs. Aylmer scarcely knew what to think 
when she saw her son settling down so con- 
tentedly, and even happily, as a mere subor- 
dinate clerk, his only recreation the fresco- 
painting of the walls of their sitting-room, or 
an occasional walk with Audrey in the coun- 


2i8 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

try, diversified by attending various Quaker 
meetings with Sir Harry Oaklands. 

It was not the sort of life to recommend 
him to the notice of those powerful at court, 
and Mrs. Aylmer knew it ; and yet she could 
not but feel thankful that her son had 
chosen the better part, although it exposed 
him to all the jests and witticisms of his fash- 
ionable companions at the office. Mr. Pepys, 
however, always stood his firm friend ; and 
although he was more than once accused of 
being a Quaker, that gentleman contrived to 
protect him, and did all in his power to recom- 
mend him to the notice of those who might 
be able to advance his interests. 

Thus the years 1663-64 slipped quietly 
away. In the winter of 1864-65 several cases 
of plague occurred in the parish of St. Giles. 
But those were not the days of newspapers, 
when every thing occurring at one end of the 
town was known at the other in less than an 
hour. News traveled slowly then ; and if 
Launcelot heard the whisper that frightened a 
few people, he did not mention it at home; 
and so the peaceful inhabitants of the Blue 
Boar heard nothing of the dread visitant that 
was among them, until the spring of the year 
1665. Then all at once the whole city was 


219 


The Plague. 

panic-stricken with the news that the plague 
was among them — had been carrying off its 
victims slowly but unceasingly all the winter. 
One neighbor ran to tell another, and friend 
to warn friends to escape while they had time. 
Nothing was talked of but the plague, and 
how it could be averted or escaped from. 
Those who had friends in the country, and 
could go away without much loss or incon- 
venience, packed up at once and went. Oth- 
ers sent wives and children out of danger, but 
stayed themselves to share the risk of what 
might befall their fellow-citizens. Among the 
gentry, at the west end of the town, there was 
a pretty general exodus ; and all day, long 
strings of carts and wagons, bearing furniture 
and luggage, might be seen pushing their way 
all along the roads leading out of town. 

Mrs. Aylmer’s first exclamation, when she 
heard the news, was, O that we could go to 
Aylmer Court ! ” But that being out of the 
question, and every other country retreat 
equally impossible, it was useless for them to 
discuss the question whether they should go 
or stay, for stay they must. Their landlord 
down stairs, however, was almost beside him- 
self with fright ; and having put a few things 
together, he gave Launcelot the key of his 


220 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

shop, and started at once; for he had only 
himself to think of and care for. 

‘‘ It is needful now to get a certificate of 
health from the lord mayor before one dare 
travel,'* he said ; but except for the crowd 
about the doors, it is easy enough to get this 
now. How it may be in a month’s time, we 
do not know.” 

That is quite true,” said Launcelot, with 
something of a sigh, thinking of the dear ones 
up stairs, and how impossible it was to remove 
them to a place of safety. 

When he went back he spoke of this to Jes- 
sie. “ I wonder whether I could manage to 
take you to Greenwich ? ” he said, debatingly. 

“ Don’t think of it, Launce,” she said. 
‘‘You could not leave the Navy Office, and 
we could not leave you, even if we had the 
money it would cost.” 

“ I could not leave Mr. Pepys just snow, cer- 
tainly, with this Dutch war close upon us, 
when all the fighting will be done by the ships 
— no, no, I should not be an Aylmer to shirk 
my work in a time of such danger ; but I do 
think you and mother and Audrey might re- 
move to some safe place — Deptford or Green- 
wich — where I should be able to see you some- 
times.” 


The Plague. 


221 


‘‘ What ! and you live here by yourself! — is 
that what you mean ? '' asked Bessie. 

'^Yes; why not? I could manage very 
well/' said her brother. 

But Bessie shook her head, and her eyes 
slowly filled with tears. ‘‘ Don’t say a word 
about it to mother,” she said ; you are only 
thinking of me.” 

‘‘ You and mother and Audrey.” 

“ Mother would never leave you here alone ; 
but she would try to send me and Audrey 
away somewhere. No, no ; God has sent a 
sweet message to me this morning, and, of 
course, it is for all of us: ‘‘In quietness and 
confidence shall be your strength.” I am not 
a bit afraid, Launce ; and I do think, if it had 
not been for the comet we saw lately, and all 
the talk there is about wonders and portents, 
the people would not be in such a hurry to 
run away as they are.” 

“ I cannot help being afraid for you,” said 
her brother. 

“ Mary told me, last week, her father had 
been to see several people who were ill with 
it.” 

“ Then I hope Mary will not come here,” 
said Launcelot, sharply. 

“ I asked if there was not a good deal of 


222 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

danger. But she laughed, and said they were 
plague-proof and fever-proof; that he often 
went to see people who were ill of fever, but 
had never caught any infection himself, or 
taken it home to his family.” 

‘‘ But we have not had the plague among us 
for some years. I do not think he ought to 
go into a house where that is,” said Launce- 
lot. 

He wears a special suit of clothes, that he 
always keeps sprinkled with vinegar, Mary 
says. The doctor told him to do this long 
ago.” 

‘‘ But he is not obliged to go visiting the 
sick now, if he was before,” said Launcelot. 
‘‘ There is another minister, now all the non- 
conformists have been turned out of their 
livings.” 

'' This new minister has gone away in a 
fright, like our landlord down stairs,” said 
Bessie. “ But I do not think any have been 
sick of the plague in our parish yet,” she 
added, or perhaps he would have stayed.” 

Perhaps he would, ’ said Launcelot, with 
a touch of his old sarcasm. But, from all I 
can hear, many of these newly-appointed min- 
isters are flying away in fright, leaving their 
people and pulpits to any body or nobody.” 


The Plague. 


223 


Mr. Maitland, then, will stay to help the 
poor, Tm quite sure. They have been getting 
on better lately, Launce, since you have been 
able to get him a little scrivener s work. Are 
you likely to be busy still at the Navy Of- 
fice ? she asked. 

‘‘ Busy ! with a naval war on hand ? O yes, 
we are likely to be too busy for some people’s 
comfort. There will be plenty of scrivener’s 
work for Mr. Maitland if he can do it, I 
know.’* 

“ I am so glad — not about the war — I don’t 
like to think of that — but that Mr. Maitland 
has some work he can do.” 

Have you seen Rosalind lately?” asked 
Launcelot. It was not often that he men- 
tioned his cousin’s name, and rarely saw her^ 
even when she came to visit them, as she did 
sometimes. 

‘‘ Mary said she was coming to see us one 
day this week. We have not seen her for 
some time,” added Bessie. 

Do you think she has altered at all ? ” 
asked her brother. 

*‘You mean she is less selfish? Well, I 
don’t think any one" could live with the Mait- 
lands and not have some of it taken out 
of them. I know she helps Mary with the 


224 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

lace-making, and Mary always thinks it was 
most kind of her to refuse to go away when 
her father was turned out of his living, and 
they had to face such dreadful poverty. I like 
to think it was kindness, too ; but somehow we 
never could feel quite sure what Rosalind would 
do under any circumstances, and Audrey al- 
ways declares she was born to make mischief 
and trouble for every body she came near. 

‘‘ I don’t think Audrey ever was fond of 
her, and I know she looks upon her now as 
the cause of all our misfortunes,” said Launce- 
lot. 

Yes, she does,” admitted Bessie; “but I 
tell her that is not quite fair.” 

‘‘Well, you will be kind to her, I know, 
Bessie, and make allowance for her faults, as 
mother does. O dear, I wish she were a dif- 
ferent girl ! ” he added, with deep feeling. 

Bessie pressed her brother’s hand, and 
looked tenderly into his face. She knew his 
secret, but had never dared to speak of it, and 
even from her look he turned hastily away 
and went out. 

The next day, as mother and daughters were 
sitting at work in the window, there came a 
heavy knocking at the door down stairs, and on 
its being opened, Rosalind rushed in. 


225 


The Plague, 

O, aunt, what is to become of us all?’' 
she said, sitting down and wringing her 
hands. 

Bessie turned pale with alarm, for she felt 
sure Mr. Maitland had caught the plague, or 
some dreadful accident had happened to 
Mary ; and Audrey at once became excited, 
and exclaimed : O, Rosalind, what is the 
matter? is there another dreadful comet?” 

Rosalind shook her head. “ Worse than 
that,” she said ; one of the clever German 
doctors who sold plague water has himself 
died of the plague.” 

‘^Killed by his own water?’ asked Mrs. 
Aylmer, quietly, while Audrey felt so relieved 
that she actually laughed, to her cousin’s great 
indignation. 

How can you laugh exclaimed Rosa- 
lind, angrily. “ Aunt, we are in dreadful dan- 
ger of catching the plague ; and if the medi- 
cine they warrant will cure it is of no use, 
what are we to do?” 

“ Trust in the Lord,” said Bessie, quietly. 

Yes, that is all very well ; but we ought to 
take care of ourselves. I had bought half a 
pint of this man’s plague water, for Mr. Mait- 
land will go to see every sick person who 
sends for him, so that we never know how 

15 


226 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

soon he may bring it home, and I cannot 
afford to buy all the medicine that is sold 
for it.” 

“ What a pity!” said Audrey, mockingly. 

Well, it would not be needful to buy all, 
perhaps, because there are so many things 
warranted to cure it ; but how am I to know 
which is the best ? The money I spent for 
what Tve got is wasted now,” added Rosalind, 
in an injured tone. 

Then the real grievance is that you have 
been cheated out of your money ? ” said her 
aunt, with something like a smile, while Au- 
drey laughed openly. 

‘‘ Would you like to be cheated, then?” de- 
manded Rosalind, angrily. 

‘‘ No, I should not ; but I hope I should not 
be such a goose as to spend my money in 
plague waters,” retorted Audrey. 

‘‘Hush, hush!” interposed Mrs. Aylmer; 
“ is this all that has frightened you, Rosa- 
lind ? ” she asked. 

Rosalind shook her head, and began to cry. 
“ I cannot bear it any longer, aunt,” she 
sobbed ; “ it was bad enough before the plague 
came, but I must get away now.” 

“ Get away ! ” repeated Mrs. Aylmer, in 
vague alarm, wondering what hare-brained 


The Plague, 227 

scheme Rosalind had formed in her active 
mind. 

‘‘Yes, aunt; I must, I must!'' she sobbed, 
passionately. “ I cannot bear it any longer. 
I never thought Mr. Maitland would be poor 
so long as this, or I should not have offered to 
stay with them." 

“ But where can you go?" asked Mrs. Ayl- 
mer, in consternation. 

“ You cannot com.e here," put in Bessie, 
quickly, thinking instantly of her brother. 

“ I don’t want to come here,” replied Rosa- 
lind, hotly. 

“But, my dear child, where else can you 
go ? " said her aunt, in a troubled tone. “ We 
must try and make room for you, if you are 
no longer happy at Mr. Maitland’s." 

“ O, it isn’t that exactly,” said Rosalind, 
beginning to dry her tears. “ I should be 
happy, I dare say, if I could see when there 
would be an end to this pinching and screwing 
and contriving; but I can’t. I can assure you, 
aunt, I had the greatest trouble to save enough 
money to buy that one half-pint of plague 
water; and think of being without any proper 
medicine for the plague, when some of us may 
be seized with it at any moment.” 

“ But you say the man who made this has 


228 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

died, although I suppose he had plenty?” 
said Audrey. 

“Yes; that is where it is so dreadful, for 
we have no money to buy more,” said Rosa- 
lind. “ And so I must go away somewhere — 
every body is going away now,” she added. 

“ Well, we shall have to stay here, I expect, 
plague or no plague,” said Audrey. 

“Yes, I suppose so; you could not ask 
friends to take such a lot of you ; but they 
might take one like me.” 

Audrey and her mother both looked up as 
Rosalind said this. “ Then you know some 
friend who is willing to take you away from 
London?” said her aunt. 

“ Yes — no— that is, I came to talk to you 
about it, aunt. Isn’t there an uncle or cousin 
or some relative — a minister in Derbyshire, 
that I could go to ?” 

“ I never knew your father’s friends,” said 
Mrs. Aylmer, rather stiffly. 

“ And you think this uncle or cousin must 
be my father’s relative ? ” said Rosalind, 
languidly. 

“ Certainly ; he was not your mother’s. But 
what has brought him to your remembrance 
just now ? ” asked her aunt. 

“ Well, I’ve been thinking I must go some- 


The Plague. 


229 


where ; and if this good man — I have heard 
my father say often he was a very good man 
— if he knew he had a poor orphan niece here 
in London, I dare say he would be very glad 
to let me go to him.’' 

“ But you have never been to any of your 
father’s relatives ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Aylmer. 
In point of fact the Aylmers had always 
looked down upon them as people quite be- 
neath their notice, so that it w’as not strange 
that the lady had never heard of this uncle 
before. 

No; but I could do so now. This uncle 
was a rector, or curate, somewhere in Derby- 
shire ; but I forget the name of the place.” 

“ Then how can you think of going to him, 
if you forget the name of the place where he 
lives? ” exclaimed her aunt. 

I might find it out.” 

Do you know what his name is ? ” 

Rosalind shook her head. I cannot think 
of it just now; but I have heard my father 
say it a good many times, so that I am sure 
I shall be able to recall it when I try. Do you 
not think I had better go to him, aunt?” 
she asked. 

‘ Go to an uncle whose name you do not 
know, nor even where he lives? Now be sen- 


230 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

sible, Rosalind ; you are frightening yourself 
over this talk about the plague. Try to think 
that God can take care of you here in London 
as well as in the country. By and by this 
panic will be over, and people will settle down 
to their work again, and then you will wish 
you had not run away in such a fright.” 


Perplexities. 


231 


CHAPTER XVII. 

PERPLEXITIES. 

M other, Rosalind has made up her 
mind to go away, and she’ll go — some- 
where,” said Audrey, as soon as her cousin 
was safely out of hearing. 

Mrs. Aylmer sighed. “ I don’t know what 
to do about the child,” she said. 

She is not a child now, mother,” said Bes- 
sie. “ She is older than Audrey — quite old 
enough to take care of herself.” 

“ No, no, Bessie; she is just one of those 
who always will need to be taken care of,” 
said Mrs. Aylmer. We must talk to Launce 
about it when he comes home.” 

But Bessie objected to this, being anxious 
to save her brother from any further pain on 
Rosalind’s account. Let us wait a few days 
before teasing Launcelot,” she said ; ‘‘ per- 
haps the sickness may abate, and then we 
shall hear no more about Rosalind going 
away.” * 

But the plague did not abate ; on the con- 


232 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

trary, as the weeks went on the bills of mor- 
tality daily increased ; and, to make matters 
worse, nearly all the mechanics and laborers 
usually employed in the city were thrown out 
of work ; for merchants shut up their shops 
and warehouses, and went with their families 
into the country, or to some vessel lying out 
in the river below Greenwich. There were 
numbers of vessels now anchored in the mid- 
dle of the stream, crowded with the frightened 
citizens, who thus tried to escape the ravages 
of the terrible sickness ; and those who could 
not leave their homes shut up their shops and 
betook themselves to the upper rooms of the 
house for safety. 

All visiting among friends and neighbors 
was at an end now, and the Aylmers followed 
the example of others, and shut themselves up 
in their own rooms, only opening the door for 
Launcelot to leave or come in ; and he, to 
avoid all contact with other people, ran to 
Paul’s Wharf, where a certain waterman was 
waiting with his boat to take him to the 
Tower Stairs, the nearest point by water to the 
Navy Office. This same waterman brought 
a basket of provisions twice a week, which was 
drawn up by a rope to the window, the man 
so timing his visit that the boat could draw 


Perplexities, 


233 


close up underneath. These provisions were 
never bought in London, but at Greenwich or 
Deptford, the man being employed among 
the ships in the river on the same business. 
He had given up landing in London, and slept 
in his boat, after securing it to one of the 
larger vessels in the middle of the stream at 
night. 

Audrey often sighed and grumbled over 
the dreariness of their days now, and longed 
even for a visit from Rosalind, to break the 
weary monotony; for there were no gay boats 
and barges passing up and down the river this 
summer, and she sorely tried Bessie’s patience 
sometimes; for when the rooms had been 
washed over — as they were every morning 
now, and then sprinkled with vinegar — and 
the beds made, there remained little more for 
Audrey to do ; and so she could only sit be- 
side Bessie’s couch, and wonder how things 
looked in the streets now — whether it was 
true that grass was growing between the 
stones near the Exchange, as Launcelot had 
been told ; and whether the half-crazy Solo- 
mon Eagle was still going about the city with 
his doleful cro of ‘‘Woe, woe to the wicked 
city I plagues shall come upon it, and desola- 
tion, and it shall be utterly burnt with fire ! ” 


234 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

She had seen this man once, and listened to 
his denunciations, and in the dearth of other 
news was never weary of telling Bessie how he 
looked, and how bitterly he had denounced 
the growing wickedness of the times. Some- 
times they were wakened in the dead of the 
night by the ringing of a bell, and lay shud- 
dering at the cry of the men, Bring out your 
dead, bring out your dead ; ” and they knew 
by the stopping of the terrible pest cart that 
some neighbor had been carried off by the 
plague. 

Once or twice the doctor called, and was 
surprised to see his patient so calm and undis- 
turbed in the midst of such scenes of horror ; 
but although Bessie heard and knew all that 
went on around her, she was mercifully spared 
the sight of much that even Audrey and her 
mother had to witness at first ; for her win- 
dow, looking upon the river instead of the 
street, prevented her from seeing many a ter- 
rible sight, although it was sad enough to see 
this usually busy waterway silent and well- 
nigh deserted, not only by the boats and 
barges plying for mere pleasure, but those for 
business and the carrying of merchandise had 
ceased to throng it now. 

Beautiful visions of a home where there is 


Perplexities, 


235 


no plague and no sorrow came to cheer her, as 
she lay watching the quiet river ; but the 
tears would steal into her eyes, and she would 
silently but fervently pray that this terrible 
pestilence might speedily abate, and her be- 
loved brother be preserved from its grasp. 

It was an intense relief each day when 
Launcelot came home safely, complaining of 
no illness ; but his mother was careful to 
see that, before he entered any of the rooms, 
every article of clothing he wore was taken 
off, and those that could not be washed well 
sprinkled with vinegar. Then, when the door 
was opened, some herbs were burnt in a chaf- 
ing-dish placed in the middle of the room, for 
only by the most elaborate precautions could 
they hope to escape infection. The doctor 
said the removal of the arras from the walls 
would do much to prevent it, and if every 
body in London would follow their example 
it would help to stay the plague ; but, unfor- 
tunately, people had more faith in plague wa- 
ters and other such quackery than in cleanli- 
ness and simple sanitary precautions. 

The Blue Boar had been shut up about a 
month, when one day they were disturbed by 
a loud knocking at the shop door. They took 
no notice of this at first, but, as it was con- 


236 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

tinued for some time, Mrs. Aylmer at length 
went up to a front window, and then saw 
that Mary and Rosalind were standing out- 
side. 

Carefully wrapping her head in a cloth well 
sprinkled with vinegar, she cautiously opened 
the window, and called out, “What do you 
want, Mary?*’ 

“ I must come in, aunt,” said Rosalind, in 
her usual commanding tone. “ I am going 
away very soon, and I must see you before 
I go.” 

But Mrs. Aylmer looked dubious. “ We 
have shut up the house for more than a month 
now, and only open the door for Launce,” she 
said. 

“Then you can open it for me, aunt, just 
this once,” said Rosalind, quickly ; “ we are 
well sprinkled with vinegar, and have been 
eating rue since we have been in the street,** 
she added. 

“ I can go back, if you wish it,*’ said Mary; 
but Mrs. Aylmer’s anxiety to hear something 
of these friends overcame her fear of the 
plague, and she bade the two girls wait until 
she could open the door. 

A barrel half full of tar stood in the shop 
among the litter of ropes, and, when she 


Perplexities. 237 

opened the door, Mrs. Aylmer bade the girls 
stand beside this, for their own sakes as 
well as hers ; for it was believed that tar 
was a powerful disinfectant, and Launcelot 
always changed his clothes beside this tar 
barrel. 

‘‘ You are running a great risk, Mary, com- 
ing into the street like this,’' said Mrs. Aylmer, 
reprovingly. 

But my father goes every day,” said Mary, 
and so it is impossible for us to keep the 
house shut up. He preaches in the church 
again every Sunday, and twice a week ; for 
the new minister has gone away, and the 
poor people naturally look to us to help 
them.” 

‘‘ But how can he do it, Mary ? ” exclaimed 
Mrs. Aylmer. 

“ Aunt, it is quite dreadful ! ” exclaimed 
Rosalind, in an excited tone ; we are never 
safe a minute. I never feel sure but that I 
may see the plague spot on my arm or neck ; 
and yet Mr. Maitland will go out as if nothing 
was the matter.” 

He believes it is his duty to go,” said 
Mary ; but, indeed, he takes every precau- 
tion, Mrs. Aylmer,” she added. 

“ Yes ; he often preaches on the church 


238 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 


steps instead of inside the church,” said Rosa- 
lind. But the church-yard is half full of peo- 
ple ; and who can tell that some of them have 
not got the plague? Aunt, I cannot bear it 
any longer. I must go away ! ” she added, 
bursting into tears. 

‘‘ It is what we have come to see you about, 
Mrs. Aylmer,” said Mary, calmly. Rosalind 
is frightening herself now ; and my father 
thinks, if this uncle will receive her, that it 
will be better for her to go, especially as he 
knows some one who is going to Eyam 
with some merchandise, and could take her 
safely.” 

To Eyam ! Where is Eyam asked the 
lady. 

‘‘ In Derbyshire. It is the place where my 
uncle lives,” said Rosalind, quickly. 

Mrs. Aylmer sighed. I really wish you 
would try to rest content here in London,” 
she said. 

‘‘ But how can I, aunt ? ” she said. Our 
lace-making is stopped, for we cannot sell it ; 
there is no one to buy it.” 

Mrs. Aylmer looked anxiously at Mary, won- 
dering how they lived. She understood the 
look, and answered : “ We have not wanted for 
bread yet.” 


Perplexities, 


239 


No ; but we have nothing to spare for 
medicine,” said Rosalind, in a tone of com- 
plaint. 

We have all we need,” said Mary ; a good 
store of vinegar and rue, and figs to roast, should 
they be needful ; ” and she looked as though 
she would like to say more, but did not 
dare. 

‘‘ When did you hear from this uncle, Rosa- 
lind?” asked Mrs. Aylmer. 

‘‘ I have not heard from him, aunt ; but the 
little box you gave me had some letters in it 
— some letters from my father, and one of 
them was written from this place — Eyam ; he 
was staying with this uncle, who was vicar of 
the parish, and — ” 

But that was years ago, Rosalind ; so many 
things have happened since that letter was 
written. Your uncle may have died as well as 
your father.” 

‘‘ Ah ! but I have not told you all, aunt,” 
said Rosalind, with a slight laugh. “ When 
you hear the rest, I think you will say I am 
right in deciding to go away — that it is just a 
providence sent on purpose for my deliv- 
erance.” 

Rosalind believed in a providence that suited 
her own selfish ends, and her aunt was well 


240 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

aware of this ; so she said, with some tartness : 
“ You can believe God means you to go away 
into the country, because you have made up 
your mind to go. But take off your hoods 
and cloaks, and come up stairs ; it will do Bes- 
sie good, I know, to see Mary. You shall 
wash your hands and faces with vinegar before 
you come in, and I will light the herbs in the 
chafing-dish.” 

“ Thank you ; I shall like to see Bessie,” 
said Mary, quickly divesting herself of the 
large cloak, and plentifully sprinkling herself 
with vinegar from a bottle she carried in her 
pocket. She was proceeding to do the same 
for her companion ; but Rosalind drew herself 
away. “ I do so hate the smell of vinegar,” 
she said. 

“ But you must use it, or I cannot let you 
come up stairs. There is great risk even with 
this, but — ” 

“ And yet you laugh at plague water, aunt ? ” 
interrupted Rosalind. 

“ We wont talk about plague water now ; 
let Mary sprinkle you with vinegar, or you 
must stay down here.” 

“ We were sprinkled with it just before we 
came out,” grumbled Rosalind, as she ungra- 
ciously submitted. 


Perplexities, 


241 


Audrey fairly shouted for joy when the sit- 
ting-room door was opened and their visitors 
admitted. I am so glad you let them come 
up/’ she said, dancing round her mother in 
her glee. “ Bessie and I have been wondering 
what could have happened ; for we heard you 
go down and open the street door, but Bessie 
would not let me open this.” 

‘‘ Of course not. I should not have let 
Rosalind in now, but she is going away.” 

The two sisters looked at each other and 
nodded. 

“ We have come to ask your mother’s con- 
sent to her going away,” said Mary, turning to 
Bessie. “ My father can make all the arrange- 
ments needful for her to travel, if Mrs. Ayl- 
mer will send her to Mr. Stanley.” 

But I know nothing about this Mr. Stan- 
ley,” said the lady. 

My father knows him to be a God-fearing 
minister ; and a man in this parish who has 
relatives there knows him well, and he is will- 
ing to take charge of Rosalind and bear her 
safely to him ; for he is to take some mer- 
chandise to Eyam on his way to Yorkshire,” 
said Mary. 

Rosalind looked triumphant. Don’t you 
think I ought to go now, aunt ? ” she said. 

16 


242 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

But Mrs. Aylmer still looked doubtful. “ If 
I knew more about this Mr. Stanley, I should 
be better able to decide,’' she said. 

My father knows him by the report of 
Mr. Calamy, and so you may rest assured that 
he is a true. God-fearing man,” said Mary ; and 
then she left Rosalind and Mrs. Aylmer to 
discuss this question by themselves, while 
she turned to have a little quiet talk with 
Bessie. 

Have you any thread, Mary?” asked Bes- 
sie, in an undertone. 

Mary shook her head. I have several 
pieces of lace not sold,” she said. There is 
no one to buy lace now.” 

And I am idle for want of thread,” said 
Bessie. ‘‘ But how do you manage,” she sud- 
denly asked, if you cannot sell the lace 

ft 

now r 

Mary raised her finger and glanced back- 
ward toward Rosalind. 

“ My father said I was not to tell her, be- 
cause she would talk about it to the children. 
But, Bessie, the most wonderful thing has 
happened. We have money to help our poor 
people again ; ” and Mary’s face fairly beamed 
with joy as she spoke. 

Did Mrs. Hawkins give it you ? ” asked 


Perplexities, 243 

Bessie, who had often heard of the kindness 
of this old friend. 

Mary shook her head. 

‘‘ My father would not have taken it from 
her,” she said. “You have heard of Solomon 
Eagle, who wanders about the city, and no- 
body knows where? He came to our door 
one day, and when my father opened it and 
bade him come in, he put a bag of gold pieces 
into his hand, saying, The Lord hath sent 
it ; ' but beyond this, we cannot tell how he 
got it — whether he found it, or whether it was 
given to him by some dying person, which my 
father thinks is most likely. He is quite sure 
it was not stolen, and so he had used it as it 
was sent for the Lord. We, and many others, 
must have starved but for Elijah's gold, as we 
call it. But if Rosalind or the children knew 
we had such a store, they would want us to 
go away into the country at once ; and so I 
agreed with my father that it was best to 
keep it a secret. Having had this sent to 
him, my father is more certain than ever 
that God wishes him to stay where he is, 
and do what he can for his poor desolate 
flock. You will keep our secret, I know, 
Bessie?” 

“ From Rosalind I will ; but may I not tell 


24-t At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

my mother and Launce ? They are growing 
anxious about you, I know.*' 

Then you must tell them certainly," said 
Mary ; '' but not a word to Rosalind." 

“ O no; she would read quite the opposite 
meaning into it,*’ said Bessie ; and then the 
conversation became general, for Rosalind 
came to look out upon the river. 


How the Plague was taken to Eyain. 245 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

HOW THE PLAGUE WAS TAKEN TO EYAM. 

I T was no easy matter for a person to travel 
out of London at this time; for, in the 
first place, a bill of health, certifying that the 
person bearing it was free from all taint of 
the plague, had to be obtained from the lord 
mayor before he could be allowed to pass 
the city gates ; and this could be demanded 
by the constable of every town and village 
through which he passed. 

Mr Maitland had some difficulty in obtain- 
ing this bill of health for Rosalind and her 
escort, and the lord mayor warned him when 
he gave it that, even with this warrant, the 
country people might refuse to let them have 
food or lodging on their journey, so great was 
the terror of the plague. This was all ex- 
plained to Rosalind, but she still persisted in 
her determination to go away ; and so, toward 
the end of July, she went, mounted in a 
country wagon, and seated on the box of cloth 
and patterns that went to be delivered to the 


246 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

Eyam tailor She had contrived to obtain 
another bottle of plague water, and Mr. Mait- 
land and Mary took care that she was sup- 
plied with every thing they could get to make 
her comfortable on the way. But, after all 
had been done to provide for the exigencies 
of the journey, both Mary and Mrs. Aylmer 
felt unaccountably depressed. 

“ If we could hear in a month’s time that 
she had reached her journey’s end in safety, I 
should not feel so anxious about her, ” said 
the lady. 

“ I cannot help wishing she had stayed with 
us,” said Mary. 

‘‘ Mischief is sure to follow wherever she 
goes,” said Audrey, lightly. Our troubles 
began soon after she came to us at Aylmer.” 

But she did not bring them ; remember 
that, Audrey,” said her sister. 

“ No ; but she has brought us enough since. 
If she had not been so impatient to escape 
from it herself, we might all have been safe at 
Aylmer now, instead of being shut up here, 
with only Mary to come and see us occasion- 
ally ; and we never know but that she may 
take the plague going home,” said Audrey, 
who found some satisfaction in grumbling oc- 
casionally. 


How the Plague was taken to Eyam, 247 

I sha’n’t take the plague/' said Mary, with 
a smile ; and if either of you should catch 
it, I will come and nurse you, for I have 
had it." 

If a pistol had suddenly exploded close to 
Audrey’s head, she could not have looked 
more startled as she jumped from her chair 
and darted across the room. 

^‘You have had the plague?" she slowly 
uttered. 

Mary could not help laughing. 

Don’t be very frightened," she said. We 
have all had it months go — last winter." 

‘‘ Did Rosalind know it?" asked Mrs. Ayl- 
mer, as soon as she could recover from her as- 
tonishment sufficiently to speak. 

Rosalind had it first, and I nursed her, 
and caught it ; and then we were obliged to 
have a nurse that the doctor sent," said Mary. 

And you have all recovered," uttered the 
lady, in profound astonishment ; for if a per- 
son were seized with the dreadful sickness he 
would be looked upon as dead at once ; and to 
hear that a whole family had recovered from 
an attack was little short of marvelous. 

♦ That is what my father says, and it fills him 
with such confidence in going about among the 
poor; for a person rarely takes it a second 


248 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

time, the doctor thinks, if he takes ordinary 
precautions ; and that we do always,” said 
Mary. 

‘‘ But why did you not tell us about this 
before?” asked Bessie. 

Rosalind begged I would not. I could 
never understand why she wished to conceal 
it from you, but she was very anxious that 
you should not be told ; and so we kept it a 
secret as far as we could.” 

‘‘ Were you very ill?” asked Mrs. Aylmer. 

*‘Yes; the fever was very bad while it 
lasted; but it did not last long, or we must 
have died.” 

'' What did you take to cure you ? ” asked 
Audrey, quickly. 

O ! do try and remember what you gave 
Rosalind, for we might want to use it for 
Launcelot,” said Bessie, eagerly. 

“ Well, we gave her first a warm posset of 
Canary and spirits of sulphur; then we put 
a poultice of mallows and lily roots on the 
plague spot ; but some use roasted figs and 
linseed.” 

‘‘ Was that all ? ” asked Audrey. “ Didn't you 
have any plague water? Rosalind was always 
talking about plague water.” 

Mary shook her head. 


How the Plague was taken to Eyain, 249 

We had a drink made by stewing worm- 
wood and wood-sorrel, master-wort and an- 
gelica, all together, and there was something 
else in Venice treacle; but I have kept a sup- 
ply of both medicines, and we have given a 
great deal away ; and my father thinks, if 
people were more calm, and not so sure that 
a person seized with the plague would die of 
it, there would be fewer deaths than there 
are/’ 

There is little doubt of that,” said Mrs. 
Aylmer; ‘‘but I should like to have some of 
your medicine, Mary, if you can spare it, for 
I often feel anxious about Launcelot.” 

“ They have not closed the Navy Office 
yet ? ” said Mary, questioriingly. 

“ How^ can they, when we are at war with 
the Dutch?” said Audrey. 

“ But Launcelot told me yesterday there 
was some talk of moving the office to Green- 
wich while the plague lasts,” said Bessie, 
quietly. 

“Did he really say so? Mother, shall we 
go to Greenwich, too?” exclaimed Audrey, 
excitedly. 

“ Now, sweetheart, be calm. Launce may 
not go to Greenwich ; and if he does, we may 
not be able to do so.” 


250 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

But Audrey had heard sufficient to set her 
excited fancy at work ; and when her brother 
came in she pounced upon him at once with 
the question : When are you going to Green- 
wich, Launcelot? when can we go?” 

‘‘ I am not going at all,” said Launcelot, 
quietly, and trying to conceal the pain in his 
voice. 

Not going?” uttered Audrey. 

He looked at Bessie and his mother. 

“ I wish it could be otherwise,” he said ; 

but somebody must go backward and for- 
ward to this office, and — and I — ” 

'‘You have been chosen, my son, for this 
difficult task?” said Mrs. Aylmer, with a touch 
of pride in her tone. 

I — I volunteered for this service,” he said. 

Bessie and his mother both looked puzzled, 
and Mary almost pained ; for she had often 
wished that poor helpless Bessie could be re- 
moved to a place of safety ; and this change 
in the Navy Office arrangements would make 
such a thing possible, she thought ; and now 
to hear that Launcelot had volunteered for a 
service that must keep them all in London 
was very disappointing to Mary as well as 
Audrey. 

Launcelot saw the look of surprise in her 


How the Plague was taken to Eyam, 251 

face, and when she rose to leave, he said, I 
will go down to the door with Mary ; ” for 
somehow he did not like the thought of her 
misunderstanding him. 

When they reached the shop, he said : I 
do not wish you to tell my mother or Bessie, 
but we cannot go to Greenwich, because I 
cannot get lodgings for them anywhere. I 
went about the town yesterday and to-day, 
but the people ran away from me, when they 
heard I came from London, and threatened to 
drown me when I asked some of them to re- 
ceive a family into one of their houses. The 
dread of the plague is so great that the offer 
of a fortune would scarcely tempt them to let 
us have rooms ; and so we must stay here now. 
Mr. Pepys wants somebody left at this office, 
for important news may come here from the 
fleet requiring instant dispatch, and so I have 
volunteered for that work.’’ 

Instead of going to Greenwich ? ” said 
Mary. 

“ Yes ; I could have gone there. Mr. Pepys 
was rather surprised, I think, that I did not ; 
but if I escape the plague I may be of more 
service here ; and my mother must not know 
why I refused to go to Greenwich ; but I did 
not wish you to misunderstand me.” 


252 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

Thank you for telling me ; but I am not 
sure that you are right in staying/’ said Mary, 
dubiously. 

Not right? If there is danger for them I 
must share it,” said Launcelot. ‘‘ If I went 
to stay at Greenwich, I should be constantly 
anxious about them ; but here I feel no fear. 
The Lord has not only spared our lives, but 
delivered us from the fear of the plague. If 
it should come to me, Mary, while I am away 
from home, I shall not come here to bring it 
to the others — I shall go to the pest-house in 
Finsbury Fields.” 

“ And kill your mother and Bessie with sus- 
pense ! No, no! you must come to us if you 
feel ill ; we have all had it, and can nurse you, 
and at least give you a chance of recovery.” 

'‘You have had the plague?” exclaimed 
Launcelot, with as much astonishment as 
Audrey. 

“Yes; Rosalind brought it home last win- 
ter.” 

“ And she has had it, too?” 

“ Yes ; and so I hope there is the less dan- 
ger of her taking it to Eyam,” said Mary. 

“ It is an ill-advised journey,” remarked 
Launcelot. “ She knows nothing of this uncle 
she has gone to abide with ; but still there is 


How the Plague was taken to Eyam» 253 

much excuse for her fear, for the plague in- 
creases every day, and near three thousand 
died of it last week.’' 

It is not quite so bad in this parish ; niy 
father thinks it is passing eastward.” 

I am afraid it is. Did Rosalind promise to 
send you a letter when she reached Eyam ?” 
he asked. 

^‘Yes; but my father thinks it may be a 
month at least before we can hear from her. 
She was well supplied with all necessaries for 
the journey ; so that if the country people 
should refuse to sell them any thing they will 
not starve, if they are careful to husband their 
stores. Now, you will remember to come to 
us should you be taken ill?” said Mary, as 
Launcelot was about to open the door. 

He was unwilling to promise this ; but she 
assured him that they were well provided with 
every thing necessary, thanks to Solomon Ea- 
gle’s gift, and there would be little danger of 
any of the family taking it, as they had all had 
it. But think what it would be if you 
brought the infection home, and Bessie should 
be left alone in the world ! ” said Mary. 

Hush, hush ! it is of dear Bessie I am 
thinking, I am constantly hearing some tale 
of horror, and then I think what it would be 


254 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

if we were stricken one after the other, and 
she were left unable to help us or herself 
either. Yes, I will promise what you wish; 
but I hope and pray I may never have to tres- 
pass on your kindness ; ” and then Launcelot 
opened the door and Mary went out. 

Whether Launcelot would have kept his 
promise, or whether, in the first feeling of lan- 
guid stupor, he would have gone home, not 
knowing what ailed him, it is hard to say ; but 
Mr. Maitland met him, a week later, near Paul’s 
Wharf, looking so haggard and ill that he at 
once took him by the arm and led him to his 
own house. 

I will take him to the little chamber at the 
top of the house,” said Mr. Maitland, when 
Mary opened the door. ‘‘Tell Deb to make 
a hot posset,” for their old maid-servant had 
been turned adrift on the wide world of Lon- 
don, as so many other servants were at this 
time, and had gladly found a refuge in serving 
her former master. 

“ Is it the plague ? ” whispered Mary. 

“ I fear so. Bring the posset when it is 
ready, and place it near the top of the stairs. 
I will tell you then ;” and as soon as Launce- 
lot was laid on the bed Mr. Maitland pro- 
ceeded to examine his arm and chest for the 


How the Plague was taken to Eyam. 255 

fatal plague spot. The pustule was just ap- 
pearing on his arm, but the illness, evidently, 
had not been on him long, and so the minister 
hoped the attack might prove light. But, as 
soon as every thing had been done for the pa- 
tient, it was necessary to give notice to the 
authorities, and then they had to consider 
what was to be done about letting Mrs. Ayl- 
mer know where Launcelot was. She must 
not be left in suspense, lest in her anxiety she 
should incur greater risk by going in search 
of her son ; and so Deb, who had not been 
near the patient, was dispatched with the sad 
tidings, before the watchman arrived to close 
the house and mark the door with the sign of 
the cross, and the piteous formula, “ Lord, 
have mercy upon us.” 

It was a terrible blow to Mrs. Aylmer to 
hear that her son had been stricken with the 
dreadful sickness, and she would have gone at 
once, that she might nurse him herself ; but 
Deb told her that the watchman would be 
there before she could get back ; and she knew 
that if she went she would not be allowed to 
leave the house again for some time ; and 
what might not happen to Audrey and Bessie 
while she was away? Besides, as Deb sensi- 
bly reminded her, it might be worse ; for he 


256 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

would be better cared for at Mr. Maitland’s 
than in the pest-house, where he might have 
been taken if the minister had not met him ; 
but still she could not help wishing he had come 
home, and wondering why he had been taken 
to Mr. Maitland’s. Of course, she knew noth- 
ing of what had passed between him and Mary, 
and of his determination to go to the pest- 
house rather than bring the sickness home to 
endanger all their lives ; and so she was left 
wishing still that Launcelot had come to them 
when Deb went back to do her share of nurs- 
ing, for she, too, was one of the few who had 
had the plague and recovered. 

The little household at the Blue Boar were 
full of grief and consternation over this long- 
expected yet dreaded blow ; but Bessie, as 
usual, was the first to recover sufficiently from 
its stunning effects to be able to say a word of 
comfort and counsel to her mother and Au- 
drey. Come and kneel beside me here, and 
let us pray together,” she said. ‘‘ David chose 
to be afflicted with pestilence, rather than any 
thing else, because that came direct from God ; 
and so we may comfort ourselves in the same 
way, that we are in his hands ; and if he af- 
flicts us for our sins, it is in love and tender 
mercy, because he would root the evil thing 


How the Plague was taken to Eyam, 257 

out of usP And then the three poured out 
their hearts at the throne of grace, beseeching 
God, in his mercy, to spare their beloved, and 
to stay this terrible plague that was desolating 
nearly every house in London. 

The next day Mrs. Aylmer decided to go 
out and try to learn how Launcelot was. She 
dare not go to the house to inquire, but the 
watchman at the door could tell her whether 
the dead-cart had been called during the night, 
and whether he had heard any thing of those 
inside. 

She took care to sprinkle all her clothes 
with vinegar before going out, and then walked 
in the middle of the road, to avoid meeting 
any of the few people who might be out. But 
the streets were well-nigh deserted now, for 
almost every other house bore the fatal cross 
on its door and many of them were quite de- 
serted, the whole family having died. At last 
she reached Mr. Maitland’s, and called to the 
watchman to know if he knew any thing of 
w'hat was going on inside. 

I was to tell all as came that the sick man 
was doing well, and nobody else had been took 
bad,” said the watchman. ‘‘ Somebody called 
that through the key-hole an hour ago.” 

17 


258 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A STRANGE MEETING. 



ITH trembling joy Mrs. Aylmer re- 


V V turned home with the news that 
Launcelot was alive and doing well, and then 
a little thanksgiving service was held beside 
Bessie's couch ; for even in such a strait as 
this Mrs. Aylmer could not do without the 
help of her prayer book. But the prayer and 
praise were none the less real because they 
were expressed in language written by an- 
other: her soul mounted up as with the wings 
of an eagle, and she felt calmed and rested, 
and willing to abide by the will of the Lord, 
as she rose from her knees and closed the 
prayer book. 

‘‘You are not afraid, are you, Bessie?" she 
said, seeing the girl’s eyes were still closed. 

“ Afraid ?’’ whispered Bessie. “ I don’t 
know, mother. Was Moses afraid when he 
put his shoes off, because God was in the bush, 
and he knew it, felt it, could almost see him ? 
That is how I feel now. O, mother, what 


259 


A Strange Meeting. 

does it matter, life or death, since nothing can 
separate us from him ? ’’ and the girl looked 
up so blissfully, radiantly happy, that her 
mother felt almost alarmed, and Audrey gave 
voice to her fears by exclaiming : 

O, Bessie, are you going to be ill, too ? 

“ Are people ever ill from too much happi- 
ness?” asked Bessie, quietly. 

But you say you don’t care whether you 
live or die,” expostulated Audrey. 

said it did not matter, since God would 
still be with us. I wish you could understand 
what I mean, sweetheart,” added Bessie. 

Mother, do make her a hot posset,” was 
Audrey’s reply ; ‘‘we have got some of the 
Canary Mary brought us.” 

But Bessie shook her head. “ Happiness is 
better than hot possets and plague water,” she 
said; “ so you may keep your Canary for your- 
self, in case you should want it. No, mother; I 
really am not ill,” she said, in answer to her 
mother’s look of anxiety, “ but so full of peace 
and joy that if I knew the dead-cart was com- 
ing for me to-night I do not think I should 
feel troubled or afraid.” 

Bessie did but give expression now to what 
had become her habitual frame of mind ; but 
out of the abundance of the heart the mouth 


26o At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

speaketh, and this morning the well-spring of 
joy had brimmed over, and she felt compelled 
to speak. But her words, instead of re-assur- 
ing Audrey, only alarmed her the more. 

‘‘I’m sure she is going to be ill,” she whis- 
pered to her mother. “ Don’t you think you 
had better get sonrie of the medicine ready?” 
and she actually shivered, although the weather 
was warm. 

“ Now who wants the Canary ? ” said Bessie, 
laughing. “ I tell you, Audrey, fear kills as 
many as the plague ; ” and really for the next 
hour or two it seemed as though the poor girl 
had been seized with the fatal sickness, and 
Mrs. Aylmer was greatly alarmed. But whether 
the timely application of the usual remedies 
averted a severe attack, or whether it was 
merely the sudden fright she had taken about 
Bessie, the shivering and feverishness passed 
off in a few hours, although her mother kept 
her in bed for the next day. 

The following morning Mrs. Aylmer went 
out again, as far as Mr. Maitland’s house, and 
heard from the watchman that Launcelot was 
doing well, and no others in the house had 
been attacked as yet ; and Mrs. Aylmer went 
back thankful and hopeful. 

But, O ! the dreary monotony of those hot, 


A Strange Meeting. 


261 

sad summer days, when the grass grew in the 
city streets, and men and women who vent- 
ured abroad flitted like specters along the 
road, afraid to meet even a friend, lest death 
should be the penalty of a hand-shake. To 
the little family shut up in the rooms looking 
on the silent river, the time passed slowly 
indeed for the next few weeks ; and yet they 
could not but feel thankful for the mercy that 
had spared their prop and main-stay ; for had 
Launcelot died of the plague, they would have 
been friendless indeed. 

At length, to Mrs. Aylmer’s inexpressible 
joy, she went one morning as usual to pay her 
customary visit at Mr. Maitland’s, and found 
the door open, and the watchman gone. 

“ May I come in ? ” she said, pausing on 
the threshold. 

‘'Yes, yes, dear Mrs. Aylmer; we left the 
door open on purpose,” said Mary, from an 
inner room. “ Go to the foot of the stairs, and 
you will see Launcelot in a minute; but my 
father says you must not go near him, nor stay 
in the house more than five minutes.” 

Mary spoke from the inner room, and did not 
venture to come forward and greet her friend. 

“ And you, Mary — all of you ? ” asked Mrs. 
Aylmer, in a shaking voice. 


262 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

“ We are all quite well. We have not been 
up stairs. Deb and my father have nursed 
him.” 

At this moment a faint but cheerful voice 
said, ‘^Mother;” and at the sound Mrs. Ayl- 
mer rushed up two or three stairs. But 
Launcelot drew back instantly. 

‘'No, no; go back, go back !” he almost 
shrieked ; and Mr. Maitland came forward, and 
begged her to go back to the door. 

" It is a great risk for you to come here at 
all ; but we thought it would do him good to 
see you for a minute. Poor soul, it is hard, I 
know,” said the minister, pityingly, as Mrs. 
Aylmer staggered against the wall as though 
she had been shot. 

“ O, mother, mother!” wailed Launcelot; 
" go back, go back, for Bessie^s sake ! ” 

I will, I will, my son,” said the lady, by a 
desperate effort recovering her energy. Thank 
God, I have seen him once more!” she mur- 
mured, as she slowly felt her way to the door ; 
for she was faint with emotion, and felt dizzy 
and half-blinded. 

“ God bless you, mother,” said Launcelot, as 
she turned to look up the stairs once more, and 
pray him to bless his. servant here, who has 
snatched me froni the very jaws of death. 


A Strarige Meeting. 263 

I will, I will,” murmured the lady; and 
she would have fallen to the ground, had not 
Mary ran forward, despite the risk, and placed 
her in a chair, and then made her swallow a 
glass of Canary. 

I would walk home with you, but I am 
afraid,” said Mary. How are Bessie and 
Audrey?” 

‘‘ Quite well. O, Mary, how can I ever thank 
you for — ” 

'‘Hush, hush! You must go now; you 
must not touch me,” said Mary, drawing back ; 
and then, as Mrs. Aylmer rose from her chair, 
Mary sprinkled her liberally with vinegar 
thrown over with a little brush kept for the 
purpose. 

" Launcelot will try to go out for a walk 
this evening,” she said ; " the watchman told 
us, before he left, that orders had been given 
for all citizens to be in, and shut up their houses 
by eight o’clock, that those who have had the 
plague may go out and take the air ; so, when 
he has gone Deb will light a brazier of char- 
coal and sulphur in the room where he has 
been ill, and shut it up for some time, and he 
and my father will live in another room after 
to-day. If he can walk as far, he will come 
and look up at your house ; but pray do not 


264 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

open the window or try to speak. But if you 
could put a light in the window, or hold it so 
that Launcelot could see you and Audrey, it 
would please him, I am sure ; and every little 
thing helps or hinders, when people are getting 
over the plague ; and he is anxious about you 
all, I know.” 

‘‘ Thank you, Mary, for thinking of the plan,’* 
said Mrs. Aylmer ; “ we will be in readiness 
for him.” Poor mother! it was a comfort to 
her to think she might do something to help 
forward her son’s recovery, even in this small 
way ; for, in spite of all the thankfulness she 
felt toward these kind friends who had nursed 
him, she could not help grudging them what 
was her prerogative, and would have been her 
joy and pleasure. But the thought of Bessie 
and Audrey, and the dangerous risk to which 
they would have been exposed if Launcelot 
had come home, speedily checked the ungrate- 
ful thoughts ; and with another word of thanks 
to Mary, Mrs. Aylmer left. 

As soon as she reached the street she felt 
eager to get home, and tell Bessie and Audrey 
she had seen their brother once more ; but she 
felt weak and tottering when she tried to walk 
fast, and whether she would have reached her 
home without falling to the ground is uncer- 


265 


A Stj'ange Meeting, 

tain ; but when about half-way there she found 
herself suddenly supported by a strong arm, and, 
looking round, she saw Sir Harry Oaklands. 

'‘Are you ill, Mrs. Aylmer?” asked the 
young man, anxiously. " Try to keep up until 
you reach your own home,*^ he added, “ or they 
may want to take you to the pest-house.” 

" Tm only a little weak,” she said, in a fee- 
ble voice ; “ I have seen Launce again this 
morning ! ” 

“ Seen him again ! ” repeated the gentleman. 
“ Has he been ill? I have come in search of 
him; for I saw Mr. Pepys at Greenwich yes- 
terday, and he told me he had not seen 
Launcelot nor any of his other clerks for the 
last few days.” 

"Poor fellows ! perhaps they, too, have had 
the plague,” said Mrs. Aylmer, faintly. 

Sir Harry started. " Surely, surely, they 
have not taken Launcelot to the pest-house?” 
he said, remembering what the lady had first 
told him. 

" No ; it is not so bad as that, although it 
might have been. Launce has had the plague ; 
but our kind friend, Mr. Maitland, took him 
home and nursed him there ; and he is getting 
better, and will come out for a walk this even- 
ing, Mary tells me.” 


266 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

‘'Thank God for that good news! He is 
very good to us all, Mrs. Aylmer. And now 
tell me about yourself and your daughters.” 

“ We are well. Audrey has had a slight at- 
tack of sickness, but not the plague, I think ; 
while Bessie — well, she is so strangely happy 
among all these terrors, that sometimes I feel 
more afraid for her than for Audrey, but she 
seems quite well.” 

“ Ah I ‘Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace 
whose mind is stayed on Thee,’ said the gen- 
tleman ; “ that is the secret of Bessie’s health 
and happiness, I fancy. The promise is given 
to all of us ; but until the holy Light shines 
upon it, it is a dark saying, and a mystery to 
most people.” 

They had reached the door by this time, 
and, almost before they could knock, Audrey 
had opened it ; for she had been watching at 
the casement above, and saw them coming up 
the street. 

“ May I come in, Mrs. Aylmer?” asked Sir 
Harry, as the bolts were being withdrawn. 

“ Yes, indeed, if you are not afraid,” said the 
lady ; “ but sprinkle yourself with vinegar, and 
go up stairs with Audrey at once, while I 
change my things down here ; ” for Mrs. Ayl- 
mer never ventured near her daughters in the 


A Strange Meeting, 267 

same clothes that she wore in the street, and 
to-day it was more necessary than ever to take 
precautions against the infection. 

This visit of Sir Harry Oaklands was wel- 
come to every body concerned, more espe- 
cially to Bessie, perhaps ; for he could under- 
stand the source of her peaceful happiness, and 
a few whispered words, or a silent pressure of 
the hand, are as eloquent as volumes between 
friends who understand each other’s inner spir- 
itual life, as these two did. 

But Bessie was not by any means allowed to 
engross all the gentleman’s attention, however 
willing he might be to give it. Audrey was 
anxious to know what was going on in the 
outside world, while Mrs. Aylmer was eager to 
tell all she knew about Launcelot’s illness, and 
that the Maitland household had all had the 
plague the previous winter. But it seemed 
that Sir Harry Oaklands knew all about that ; 
and, having heard also that those who had it 
once were not likely to be attacked with it 
again, he had decided to go there, as being 
the one household in London likely to be 
open just now, where he might hear some- 
thing of the family at the Blue Boar; for 
Mr. Pepys’s complaint about having no clerks 
to do the work of the Navy Office had filled 


268 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

him with consternation for the fate of Launce- 
lot and his family. 

‘‘ I will go to Greenwich to-morrow, and tell 
Mr. Pepys Launcelot has had the plague, but 
will return to his duties as soon as he has en- 
tirely recovered. I suppose he will go back?*' 
he said, questioningly. 

“ O, yes, certainly ; it is our sole dependence 
now,*’ said Mrs. Aylmer. I do not know 
what we should do without his salary.** 

“ We have given up all hope of ever going 
back to Aylmer, now,’* said Audrey, with a 
deep-drawn sigh. 

Almost forgotten there is such a place,’* 
said Bessie, laughing. 

But Mrs. Aylmer shook her head. 

‘‘No, sweetheart; I can never forget the 
dear home where so many happy hours of my 
life were spent. But I have learned many 
things here — learned to be content with my 
children’s love, even in this poor room ; and if 
Launcelot is only spared to come back to us, 
I will never murmur again because I cannot 
take you all with me to the old home.’* 

“ We have been so very happy here, my 
mother,” said Bessie. “ I feel now as tjiough 
I should be almost afraid to go away.” 

“Nay, nay; the Lord could make Aylmer 


A Strange Meeting. 269 

Court as peaceful and happy as the Blue 
Boar,” said Sir Harry, quickly. 

And Tm sure, if Bessie could be so happy 
just looking out of the window, and at these 
bare walls, she ought to be at Aylmer ; espe- 
cially when she knows it would make mother 
so much happier,*’ said Audrey. 

Why, one would think I was keeping you 
away from Aylmer, and lived here from 
choice,** said Bessie, laughing at her sister’s 
grumbling complaints. 

^‘You have much to thank the bare walls 
for,** said Sir Harry, looking round the plainly- 
furnished room. 

‘‘ The doctor said he was glad to see the 
arras had been taken away,** said Mrs. Ayl- 
mer, who only now began dimly to see that 
what she had looked upon as an additional 
trial and deprivation, was, after all, like so 
many other things, merely a blessing in dis- 
guise. 

There is nothing here to harbor the infec- 
tion,’* said the gentleman ; and doubtless 
that has greatly helped to keep you free from 
it. There is scarcely a house in the parish 
where they have not had the plague, I was 
told, when I landed at Paul’s Wharf; so you 
have much to be thankful for;” and as he 


270 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

spoke he looked pityingly at Bessie, and 
thought of what her agony would be if she 
saw her mother and sister stricken with the 
fell disease, while she was totally unable to 
help them. 

It was arranged that Sir Harry Oaklands 
should stay until the evening, and show him- 
self at the window with Audrey and Mrs. Ayl- 
mer. This would be an assurance to Launce- 
lot that his mother and sisters were cared for ; 
and also, if Sir Harry could catch a glimpse of 
him, he would be able to assure Mr. Pepys of 
his recovery so far, and therefore of his being 
shortly able to return to his post at the Navy 
Office. 


The Five -mile Act. 


271 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE FIVE -MILE ACT. 

I T was a dreary procession of ghost-like in- 
valids that paced along the close, narrow, 
hot streets of London at night-fall ; but many, 
like Launcelot, were thankful for even that 
breath of the outer air. He was leaning on 
Mr. Maitland’s arm, and managed to walk as 
far as his old home ; and it was no small com- 
fort to him to see his old friend Sir Harry Oak- 
lands supporting his mother, while Audrey 
held the lamp so that he could have a good 
view of the whole group. He paused in front 
of the house, and waved his hand in recogni- 
tion of them ; and they, too, managed to make 
out the two figures standing there, although 
it was not easy, in the deepening gloom of the 
summer night. But it was enough to satisfy 
the watchers that he was getting better ; and 
Sir Harry could go and tell Mr. Pcpys now 
that he would soon be back at his post again. 

But Launcelot’s progress was not so rapid 
as his mother and friends had anticipated. 


2/2 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

The month of August and part of September 
were very hot ; and it seemed impossible for 
any one to gain strength, or even throw off 
the remains of the disease, in such a stifling 
atmosphere. More than once had the day 
been fixed for Launcelot to return home ; but 
a slight relapse compelled them to postpone 
it again, until at last the minister obtained the 
use of a boat, in which he and Launcelot could 
go up and down the river as they pleased, so 
long as they avoided coming in contact with 
other boats. 

During these hours spent on the water the 
two friends had many a pleasant conversation ; 
and Launcelot learned much from the deep 
sweet charity that characterized every thought 
of Mr. Maitland. Every prejudice he had 
formerly entertained against those whom he 
had looked upon as the enemies of God and 
their country, gradually melted away, like ice 
barriers before the breath of summer ; and al- 
though nothing would ever change the loyalty 
he felt toward the king, and he would always 
regard the late king as a martyr, still he could 
now see things from the stand-point occupied 
by Mr Maitland and his Puritan friends, and 
his estimate of these people underwent a great 
change. 


The Five-mile Act, 


273 


These pleasant hours spent in rowing up 
and down the river were in every way a bene- 
fit to Launcelot ; for he gained health and 
strength daily now, and his appetite improved 
so rapidly that Deb’s culinary skill was no 
longer taxed to please his somewhat exacting 
fancy. Of course, he was anxious to return to 
his duties as speedily as possible, and Mr. 
Pepys was as anxious for him to go back; for 
with a naval war in progress, and all the clerks 
away from the Navy Office, accounts of all kinds 
were getting sadly in arrears. But it seemed 
as though Launcelot’s very eagerness to return 
to his duties hindered his gaining strength as 
he ought to do ; and although he went once or 
twice to Greenwich during October, it was not 
until November had fairly set in that he was 
able to take up his regular duties at the Navy 
Office again. And bad enough things were. 
A naval victory over the Dutch had been 
gained at Solebay, and a good many vessels 
taken from the enemy; and if this could have 
been followed up promptly, the war would 
speedily have ended ; but although money 
could be found for the king to waste on his 
pleasures, the poor sailors were left unpaid, 
and crowded round the Navy Office, clamoring 

for the payment of their wages. 

18 


2/4 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

It was not a pleasant state of things to go 
back to, and Launcelot came home each night 
worn out with fatigue and depressed in 
spirits. 

Out of twenty-two ships, we can only man- 
age to victual seven,’’ he said, one day, as he 
came in and threw himself into a chair almost 
exhausted. ‘‘ Mr. Pepys is to be surveyor- 
general of the victualing business, and my 
salary is to be raised, mother; but, O, the 
W'ork is hard ! ” added Launcelot, with a weary 
sigh. 

There was no need to say that the work was 
hard. Launcelot’s whole manner told of the 
exhausting labor at the office now ; and Mrs. 
Aylmer often feared he would be ill again. 
But as the cold weather came on things grew 
more bright all around. The plague de- 
creased ; and those of the clerks who had been 
ill, or afraid to venture out when it was raging 
so fiercely, once more went back to their 
duties, which consequently lightened the work 
for Launcelot. Things were looking brighter 
about the city, too. Some of the shops were 
open again, and people ventured into the 
streets more freely, and met and talked at the 
Exchange over the prospects for the winter, 
which was a decided improvement upon the 


The Five-mile Act. 


275 


panic that had prevailed for the last three 
or four months. But still things were sad 
enough ; and when Audrey returned from her 
first walk after being shut up so long, instead 
of coming back cheerful and better for the 
change, she burst into tears as soon as she 
came in, and threw herself beside Bessie's 
couch. 

I wont go out again, Bessie, yet ; it is all 
so dreadful ! " she said. 

What is so dreadful ? " asked her sister. 

O, every thing ! the grass growing in the 
streets, and the people looking like ghosts, 
and half afraid of each other," said Audrey, 
with a convulsive sob. 

Bessie stroked her hair, and soothed her as 
well as she could. “Don't cry, dear!" she 
whispered ; “ things will get brigyter every 
day now. Were all the shops open again?" 
she asked. 

Audrey shook her head. 

“ Only one here and there ; and a lot of the 
houses are shut up, as though every body was 
dead. O, dear! I wish we could go away 
from London, and forget all about this dread- 
ful plague ! " sighed Audrey. 

But it seemed as though they never were to 
forget it again. It abated as the cold weather 


276 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

grew upon them, so that business became 
almost as brisk as ever in London ; but Mary 
came in one day with the news that a letter 
had come from Rosalind, at Eyam, in which 
she said that the plague had broken out there 
shortly after she reached the village. The 
carrier who brought the letter was the same 
man who took Rosalind into Derbyshire, and 
he had given Mr. Maitland a fuller account 
than the letter contained. Nothing had been 
heard of the plague, it seemed, in that out-of- 
the-way place, until Rosalind took the sad 
news of what it was doing in London ; and a 
day or two afterward one of the villagers was 
seized with the terrible pestilence. It might 
have been carried in the cloth and patterns 
sent to the tailor's, for it was in his house that 
the sickness began ; but unfortunately it spread 
to other houses very quickly, and not a week 
had passed since but one or two had died of 
the plague. 

And Rosalind — how is she ? ” asked Mrs. 
Aylmer, anxiously. 

“ She says she is quite well,” replied Mary. 

But I fancy she is rather disappointed, for 
Mr. Stanley is not the rector now ; a Mr. 
Mompesson has got the living, and Mr. Stan- 
ley lives in a small cottage in the village. He 


The Five-mile Act, 


277 

was ejected, like my father ; so Rosalind is not 
much better off than she was with usT 

Serves her right,*' muttered Audrey, in a 
half whisper. 

'' Did she tell you this in her letter ? *' asked 
Mrs. Aylmer, who felt somewhat disappointed 
that Rosalind had not written to her as well 
as to Mary. I wonder she has not written 
to me," added the lady. 

‘‘ She has only sent me a very short letter ; 
so I should think she would send you one by 
the king’s post very soon, telling you all the 
news. The carrier told my father about Mr. 
Stanley being ejected, and living in a small 
cottage, and how he went about helping the 
people who were sick, and — ’’ 

“ And vexing Rosalind," laughed Audrey. 
I am sorry the poor people have got the 
plague, but I cannot feel sorry for her ; for she 
ought not to be so impatient, and in such a 
hurry to get away from every trouble. If it 
had not been for her — " 

‘‘ Hush, sweetheart," said her mother, laying 
her hand on her shoulder reprovingly. But 
Audrey muttered something about Aylmer 
Court under her breath. 

I am afraid Rosalind is not the only im- 
patient maiden I know," remarked Mrs. Ayl- 


278 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

mer, significantly, as Audrey walked to the 
window. 

And you have really told us all the news 
about her ? '' said Bessie, when she and Mary 
were left to themselves for a few minutes. 

‘'Not quite all, or I would have brought the 
letter for you to see. She says that Launce- 
lot ought to have sent you all away into the 
country when the plague broke out, and she 
would have stayed and gone with you. She 
says it is all Launcelot’s fault that the plague 
has broken out at Eyam.'' 

“ Mary, burn the letter ! ” said Bessie, in an 
excited tone ; “ never let my mother or Launce 
see it. She is cruel, cruel ! and poor Launce 
doing what he does for us !'* 

“ I am afraid she is very selfish,*’ said Mary ; 
“ and yet she can be so very different. It 
seemed as though she was most unselfish at 
the time my father had to give up his liv- 
ing. Bessie dear, have you heard of the fresh 
trouble that has fallen upon us ? We have to 
leave London.” 

“ Leave London ! ” repeated Bessie. 

Mary nodded, and her eyes filled with tears. 
“ My father and several other non-conformist 
ministers preached in the churches during the 
plague, when the new ministers were away in 


The Five-mile Act, 


279 


the country, and this has given great offense 
to the king and others ; and so an act has 
been passed — ‘ the Five-mile Act ’ it is called 
■ — forbidding any ejected minister to live with- 
in five miles of any town or village where they 
have had a living, or that sends members to 
Parliament/' 

‘‘ But, Mary, this is a dreadfully harsh law. 
Surely you must have made some mistake ? " 
said Bessie. 

But Mary shook her head. “ We all thought 
there must be some mistake at first ; for, be- 
yond preaching in the church, and doing what 
he could to help the poor, my father has done 
nothing ; and since the new minister has come 
back to the parish he has left off doing this, 
much as it grieves him to be idle." 

“ But what will you do, Mary ? " asked 
Bessie. 

We must go away, of course. We have 
had notice, and cannot stay much longer." 

‘‘ O, Mary, we shall not be able to see each 
other, and we have been such friends ! " said 
Bessie, quickly, as this view of the subject sud- 
denly presented itself to her mind. 

The two friends clasped each other by the 
hand in silent sorrow. For a minute their 
hearts were full to overflowing, and they could 


28o At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

not speak. At last Bessie managed to say, 
‘‘ Have you told my mother ? 

“ I want you to tell her and — and Launce- 
lot, after I am gone,’' she whispered, in a 
choking voice. 

But you will come again soon ? You must 
come as often as you can spare the time. O, 
Mary, what shall I do without you?” and 
Bessie fairly burst into tears ; and Audrey 
came bustling across the room to know what 
was the matter. 

Of course, she had to be told now, and her 
exclamations of surprise and indignation soon 
informed Mrs. Aylmer that something unusual 
had taken place. But before the explanation 
could be given the door opened, and, to every 
body’s surprise, Launcelot came in ; and, while 
he was explaining the cause of his early ar- 
rival, Mary slipped away. No one noticed 
that she was gone until Launcelot said : I 
thought I saw Mary as I came in ? Where 
is she ? ” 

O, with Bessie, of course ! ” said Audrey 
from the shelter of a large closet. 

“ No ; she has gone,” said Bessie, striving 
to look cheerful. 

Her brother looked at her curiously. ‘‘ What 
is it, Bessie? ” he asked, seating himself. 


The Five -mile Act, 


281 


For answer she burst into tears, which 
greatly alarmed her brother ; but Audrey 
came to the rescue. The Maitlands are 
ordered to leave London, because Mr. Mait- 
land preached and helped the poor people 
when the plague was so bad,’' she said, indig- 
nantly. 

Is this true?” asked Launcelot, and he 
looked almost as sad as Bessie herself. 

His sister nodded. Mary has just told me 
about it," she sobbed. “ O, Launcelot, why 
does the king do such cruel and unjust 
things?” she demanded. 

But Launcelot could only shake his head. 
Even his loyalty was put to a severe strain 
by this “ Five-mile Act." I did not think it 
would be enforced, even when it was passed," 
he said, in a hoarse, choking voice. 

Looking up into his face Bessie read some- 
thing there that made her choke back her own 
tears and try to comfort her brother. Five 
miles is not such a long way, after all," she 
said, trying to smile. You might help them 
to find a place at Greenwich or Deptford, and 
go to see Mr. Maitland, and bring me mes- 
sages from Mary sometimes.” 

‘‘ Five miles, or even ten, would not have 
been far a year or two ago, but now — What 


282 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

will you do without your friend ? ’’ he sud- 
denly asked. 

Bessie’s eyes filled again. “ O, how I shall 
miss her ! ” she said. “ She comes so often 
now, and Mr. Maitland’s talk helps one to 
understand things so much better. It will 
be dreadful for us — for me, if they have to 
go away.” 

And for me, too,” said Launcelot, in an 
undertone ; and he pressed his sister’s hand, 
and turned away to take his seat at the table. 

During the meal Mrs. Aylmer told him the 
news Mary had brought to her ; but Bessie 
noticed that the mention of Rosalind did not 
disturb him now. He was more concerned to 
hear of the outbreak of the plague at Eyam 
than of his cousin’s private concerns. I 
am afraid it will be very bad again in the 
summer,” he said ; ‘‘ it has shown itself at 
Deptford and Greenwich already, so that 
the people there have begun to grow quite 
alarmed.” 

O dear, how tiresome ! ” exclaimed Au- 
drey, petulantly. I have just been making 
up my mind that the Maitlands could go there, 
and that it would be almost as good as their 
living close by, if Launcelot could take us by 
boat to see them sometimes ; but of course, if 


The Five~mile Act. 


283 


the plague is there — though I am not sure but 
that it would be a recommendation to Mr. 
Maitland.’' 

And then the question was discussed from 
Audrey’s point of view — which, of course, 
wound up with the wish that they could all 
go and live at Aylmer Court again. 


204 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

A WOEFUL SUNDAY. 

HIS summer of 1666 was a sad one for 



X England in general and the Aylmers in 
particular; for they had made no friends 
among the neighbors, and when Mr. Maitland 
and his family were driven from London they 
were lonely indeed. With the summer heat 
the plague recommenced its ravages, not only 
in London, but in many other places ; distant 
villages like Eyam were almost depopulated. 

A letter was received from Rosalind, giving 
a sad account of the progress of events there. 
The plague was raging so terribly that whole 
families had been cut off; and the dread of 
infection in the surrounding places was so 
great, that if any one attempted to leave the 
village, even to buy or sell in a neighboring 
market, they were threatened and driven back. 
By the intervention of her uncle and Mr. 
Mompesson, the vicar, a plan had now been 
devised for obtaining a supply of food, by peo- 
ple from the market leaving what was desired 


A Woeful Sunday, 


285 


on a certain stone, and then retiring to some 
distance, while the messenger from the village 
fetched what was brought, and placed the 
money for payment in a pool of water, to be 
removed afterward. 

Rosalind’s letter had passed through the 
same purifying process, and it was still damp 
when it reached its destination. She com- 
plained bitterly, too, of the risk to which her 
uncle was constantly exposed by his labors 
among the villagers, hinting that if her aunt 
could send for her, she would gladly return to 
London now. But this was out of the ques- 
tion under existing circumstances, and Mrs. 
Aylmer wrote saying they were more than 
ever alone, for their friends the Maitlands had 
gone to a distant village in Kent, and Sir 
Harry Oaklands dare not come near London 
now, for fear of being seized by the press-gang, 
and forced to serve the king in his war against 
the Dutch, which would, of course, be impos- 
sible to him, being a Quaker. So hardly 
pressed were they for men to serve in his 
fleet, that the gang appointed by the lord 
mayor seized Launcelot one day. and, in spite 
of his protesting that he was serving the king 
in the Navy Office, he was carried off to Bride- 
well with the other unfortunate prisoners 


286 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

taken at the same time, when on their way 
home from work. 

Mrs. Aylmer spent a sleepless night anx- 
iously waiting for the return of Launcelot ; 
but, unfortunately, she was not the only one 
who had to mourn over the sudden and mys- 
terious disappearance of husbands, brothers, 
or sons. When she went out early the next 
morning to make inquiries about Launcelot, 
she met several groups of women crying and 
loudly bewailing the cruelty of the author- 
ities, who had seized the bread-winners of 
their families, and hurried them off to prison, 
preparatory to sending them to the fleet, leav- 
ing wives and children to starve or beg. For 
these there was no relief and redress ; but O, 
how thankful did Mrs. Aylmer feel when, hav- 
ing told Mr. Pepys her trouble, he said he 
would go at once to the lord mayor and de- 
mand Launcelot’s release, if he had been 
seized ; and he arranged that she should go 
with him to Bridewell and see the prisoners, 
to ascertain whether Launcelot was among 
them ; for no message had been received from 
him, and as yet she could only surmise that 
the press-gang had taken him. 

Mr. Pepys was the main-stay and backbone 
of the Navy Office, so far as the practical 


A Woeful Sunday, 


287 


working of it was concerned ; but even he had 
some difficulty in persuading the obstinate 
lord mayor that Launcelot would be of far more 
service to the king in fulfilling his proper 
duties at the office, than being sent to serve 
in the fleet. He was a man, and helped to 
swell the numbers sent by the city, and that 
was enough for its chief magistrate. Little 
chance, therefore, would the poor women have 
who went to him with pitiful tales of distress, 
imploring that their husbands and fathers 
might be allowed to return home. The lord 
mayor could turn a deaf ear to such impor- 
tunities as these, and order the suppliants out 
of his presence; but Mr. Pepys could not be 
dismissed so easily. He was a gentleman of 
some consequence, who had the ear of the 
king and the Duke of York; but still the 
magistrate, who had been ordered to send all 
the men he could impress to re-enforce the 
fleet, would not yield his prisoner if he could 
help it ; and it was not until Mr. Pepys had 
changed his arguments to threats that the 
point was yielded, and he obtained the official 
order necessary for Launcelot’s release from 
Bridewell, if he had been taken there. 

Mrs. Aylmer went with the gentleman to 
the prison, for her anxiety to obtain tidings 


288 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 


of her son had grown almost unbearable ; for 
this press-gang, alas! was not the only means 
by which his disappearance could be ac- 
counted for. The plague was still carrying 
off many victims ; and although it was not so 
severe as in the previous summer, it had been 
clearly demonstrated now, that having once 
had the sickness did not give the security 
against a second attack, as was believed at 
first ; and so Launcelot might have been car- 
ried to the pest-house in Finsbury Fields ; 
and she would have gone there to make in- 
quiries for him, in spite of the risk to herself, 
if Mr. Pepys had not persuaded her to go with 
him to the prison first. 

They took boat at Paul's Wharf, and were 
soon rowed to Bridewell, just beyond Black- 
friars, where their fears for Launcelot's safety 
were speedily set at rest. He was among the 
prisoners taken the previous evening ; and he 
was thankful indeed for his release ; for he and 
those who had been taken with him — some 
like himself, only clerks to merchants in the 
city, and some poor laboring men on their way 
home from work, while a few were beggars or 
worse — had been all thrust indiscriminately 
into a dirty, noisome room, with thieves and 
robbers for company, and no one had been at 


A Woeful Sunday, 289 

the trouble to inquire whether they wanted 
food. Launcelot was looking woefully hag- 
gard and ill when he was brought out ; but 
the sight of Mr. Pepys and his mother seemed 
to give him new life, and he declared himself 
ready to go to the office at once, although he 
had not tasted food since the previous day. 

Mr. Pepys was only too glad to have saved 
such a trusted clerk, and insisted that he 
should go home and rest for a few hours at 
least before coming to the office. I shall 
take the first opportunity of recommending 
you to the notice of the king,*' said Mr. Pepys. 
‘‘ I have already spoken several times to Sir 
William Coventry about you." 

Launcelot bowed in silent acknowledgment 
of Mr. Pepys's kindness ; but he had learned 
the vanity of trusting in princes or their 
favorites. He had grown more than recon- 
ciled to his lot, for he knew that through 
poverty God had led him to embrace the only 
true riches, and that but for this blessed trial 
he would never have sought that holy Light 
— that was the true Light, which lighteth 
every man that cometh into the world," but 
which, alas ! had been buried in sin and self- 
ishness all his life, until his treasured plans of 
wealth and worldly greatness had been broken 
19 


290 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

up and destroyed. Now he shrank from the 
thought of ever being wealthy, or attaining 
his rightful position, as from a temptation of 
Satan ; and so Mr. Pepys*s promise to recom- 
mend him to the king’s notice, if ever the op- 
portunity came, made but slight impression 
upon Launcelot, although Mrs. Aylmer grasped 
it at once, as offering them a hope of yet being 
restored to their own again. 

She knew, however, that the subject was 
a distasteful one to her son, and so she waited 
until he had gone out before mentioning what 
she had heard to her daughters. 

Audrey was of course delighted, and was 
very ready to build all sorts of air castles on 
this fragile foundation. 

“ It could not have happened better, moth- 
er ! ” she exclaimed. The navy, of course, 
is in high favor with the king, and he is con- 
stantly hearing about it now ; and so it will be 
the easiest thing in the world for Mr. Pepys 
to tell him of what valuable service Launce 
has been to him. Wouldn’t you be glad, Bes- 
sie, if we could go to Aylmer Court? Now do 
say you would, for Launce is so provoking 
about it. I believe he thinks now it is down- 
right wicked to be rich,’* added Audrey, sud- 
denly addressing her sister. 


A Woeful Sunday. 


291 


What am I to say?*' laughed Bessie. 

We have been very happy together here at 
the Blue Boar; but, of course, it is not like 
Aylmer Court ; and I am sure, if God gave 
us our old home, it would be good for us, and 
he would like us to be glad and thankful.” 

There, there, Tm glad you’re not like 
Launce. I believe he is afraid of the dear old 
place now,” said Audrey, skipping round the 
room. 

‘‘ Or tired of hearing a chatter-box talk 
about it,” put in her mother. 

I’ll tell him when he comes home that 
Bessie wants to go to Aylmer; for there’s no 
telling what he may do, now he’s got these 
Quaker notions into his head.” 

“Hush, Audrey!” reproved her mother. 
“ Launcelot is not a Quaker, and pray do not 
talk at random.” 

“You need not tell him I want to goto 
Aylmer. I am ready to go when God is ready 
to send us there, and — ” 

“Then you do believe that God will give 
us our own again ?” interrupted Audrey. 

“ I don't know about believing that. I know 
God will give us what is best — the very best. 
He may see that we need to learn something 
that poverty cannot teach us. We have 


4 


292 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

learned many bitter-sweet lessons in that 
school, and he may see that a change of dis- 
cipline will be better now ; I cannot say.’’ 

Audrey nodded. You have had your share 
of the bitters, Bessie,” she said. 

And the sweets, too. Ah, you do not 
know how happy I have been here sometimes. 
The river has been as the face of God, full of 
love and tenderness to me.” 

But Audrey knew nothing of these hidden 
joys. To her the river was interesting as a 
spectacle when it was dotted over with pleas- 
ure-boats and barges; but there were few of 
these to be seen now, and so to her it was dull 
and uninviting. She had soon made up her 
mind that they would hear from the king 
shortly. Mr. Pepys was so often in request 
that he would be sure to have a chance of 
recommending Launcelot. 

But the weeks of the summer went on, and 
there were tales of defeat and victory, and that 
the French had joined the foe, and would have 
to be watched in the Channel, necessitating 
the fitting out of a second fleet— all which in- 
terested Launcelot, as his work lay in prepar- 
ing the various details; but to Audrey they 
were but the mere side events that were to 
issue at last in their advancement. But, al- 


A Woeful Sunday, 


293 


though she was in daily expectation of this 
great event that was to change the whole 
tenor of their lives, she had learned to wait 
with patience, if not with resignation. And 
so the summer passed, and September came, 
and no \vord had been spoken by Mr. Pepys 
upon which Audrey could found any hope 
that his promise had not been forgotten. 

Saturday, the 1st of September, had been a 
busy day at the Blue Boar; for Mrs. Aylmer, 
since the plague began, had frequently washed 
the floors of all the rooms — a practice rather 
too uncommon in those days ; and, having 
heard by letter that their landlord was coming 
back, after along visit to the country, she and 
Audrey had been busy that day preparing his 
rooms as well as their own ; and so they all re- 
tired to rest early, thoroughly tired out, and 
they slept later than usual the next morn- 
ing. 

When Mrs. Aylmer was dressing she became 
conscious of an all-pervading smell of smoke 
and burning wood ; and looking out of the 
window, she saw that the sky was darkened 
— not with clouds, as she had at first supposed, 
but with smoke. She hurried on the rest of 
her clothes as quickly as she could, and, going 
into the sitting-room, she saw that Launcelot 


294 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

was looking anxiously out of the window, and 
Bessie looked as though she had been awake 
all night. 

There is a terrible fire, mother ; and it has 
been burning a long time, I am afraid,” said 
Bessie. 

‘‘ Where is it ? ” asked Mrs. Aylmer, anx- 
iously, hurrying across the room. 

Somewhere near London Bridge, I think,” 
replied Launcelot, who was looking intently in 
that direction. '‘Give me some breakfast, 
mother, as quickly as you can, and I will go 
and see where it is.” 

It did not take long to place the small ale 
and bread on the table, and Launcelot quickly 
dispatched his breakfast. Then they gathered 
round Bessie’s couch for the morning devo- 
tions, and Launcelot hurried away to ascertain 
where the fire was. 

" What a noise the bells are making! ” said 
Audrey ; " not at all as though they were 
ringing for church.” 

" They are ringing to alarm the people,” said 
Mrs. Aylmer, as she hurriedly put away the 
breakfast things. " Are you going to church ? ” 
she asked. 

" I think so. The fire is not near us, and it 
will be out soon, I dare say;” and she put on 


A Woeful Sunday, 295 

her things and set out, while Mrs. Aylmer took 
her prayer book, and sat down to read to Bes- 
sie. But her eyes wandered from the book to 
the window every other minute ; and as soon 
as the morning lesson had been read she laid 
it aside altogether. 

The fire is increasing, I am afraid, and the 
wind is carrying the flames and the sparks this 
way,” said Mrs. Aylmer, anxiously, after she 
had stood at the window a few minutes. Then 
there was a knocking at the door, and on its 
being opened, Audrey rushed in, looking ex- 
cited and frightened. It is a most dreadful 
fire,” she exclaimed, and spreading so fast 
that people are saying that Solomon Eagle’s 
words will come true, and all the town will be 
burnt ! ” 

‘‘ Have you been to church?” asked Bessie. 

Audrey shook her head. There is no 
service this morning ; every body is away at the 
fire, or helping the poor people to carry away 
their goods. O, mother, if it should come, 
here?” added Audrey, with bated breath, 
looking at her helpless sister. 

Launcelot will come back to give us warn- 
ing in time,” said Bessie, placidly. We can- 
not go out to help those whose homes are be- 
ing burned, but we can help them here,” she 


296 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

added. ‘‘ Come and kneel down, and let us 
pray for them.'* 

Mrs. Aylmer took up the prayer book again, 
and turned over the leaves ; but she was in 
perplexity, for she knew not where to find a 
special form of prayer for such a calamity as 
this. Bessie waited a minute or two, the si- 
lence only broken by the dull roar of the 
flames and the crash of filling houses ; but at 
length words of pleading entreaty wrung from 
her lips startled her mother at first, for it was 
the first time Bessie had ever prayed aloud ; 
but now she spoke to God as though he was 
her Friend and Father, and could not fail to 
hear and answer her prayer. Audrey won- 
dered, and Mrs. Aylmer was somewhat 
shocked, but she felt calm and trustful as she 
rose from her knees. 


Conclusion. 


297 


CHAPTER XXII. 


CONCLUSION. 


LL through that terrible Sunday morning 



-Cjl the little family*at the Blue Boar watched 
and prayed by turns, and still the fire grew 
apace, as they could see. Mrs. Aylmer and 
Audrey grew sick with despair at last. Why 
does not Launcelot come back ? ” exclaimed 
the anxious mother. We shall certainly be 
burnt ; nothing can save the town now ! O ! 
God's judgments are very sore ; will he never 
stay his hand from smiting this guilty city?" 

‘‘ My mother, God loves London as well as 
us," said Bessie, through her tears. We 
cannot understand it or see the mercy while 
this terrible fire is raging; but it is there all 
this same, and we must try to believe it." 

“ O, Bessie ! to talk of mercy with half the 
town in flames, and poor women and children 
made homeless ! But God is just, I know ; 
we have brought this destruction upon our- 
selves by our sins, and we know God hates sin." 

“Yes; but he loves the sinner, my mother 


298 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

— loves him so much as to give his only Son 
to die for him ; and therefore there must be 
mercy and love in this sore judgment.'’ 

At this moment, Audrey, who was standing 
by the window, uttered a loud groan ; and at 
the same instant came the terrible crash of 
some falling building, while the roaring of 
the flames seemed increased tenfold. 

O, what is it?” exclaimed Mrs. Aylmer, 
rushing to Audrey’s side. 

Look, look, mother ! All the boats and 
barges are on fire, and several of the houses on 
London Bridge ; and see how the flames are 
sweeping this way ! ” 

Mrs. Aylmer did see ; and, as she looked at 
Bessie, she wrung her hands. I must carry 
you myself to a place of safety,” she said ; 
‘‘Audrey and I can do it easily.” But now 
the most wonderful thing occurred. 

As Mrs. Aylmer was about to raise Bessie 
on her couch, she suddenly raised herself and 
put her feet to the floor. “ O, my mother, I 
can stand! ” she exclaimed, in a tone of rapture. 

But Mrs. Aylmer and Audrey could only 
stand and look, with such awe in their faces as 
rendered them speechless for a time. 

Bessie looked at them, holding out her 
hands, and then looking down at her feet, with 


Conclusion, 


299 


a happy light of wonderful surprise in her face 
for a minute or two, until she was aroused by 
her mother s exclamation of joy. ‘‘ And there 
is Launcelot,” she said, as footsteps were heard 
on the stairs. 

Audrey flew to the door, fairly screaming 
with delight. “ Bessie can stand ! Bessie can 
stand ! ” 

“ Odd's fish, girl ; do you know the town is 
on fire.?^" said the visitor, as he came in. 

At the sound of that voice Mrs. Aylmer 
started forward, and, with a grace that only 
one accustomed to court etiquette would know 
how to use, bowed herself before the stranger. 
“ Sire, you have come to tell me of my son ? " 
she said, in a tone of trembling earnestness. 

‘‘ It is the king ! " whispered Audrey, re- 
treating to her sister’s side. 

‘‘ Who have we here ? ” said Charles, in no 
small surprise that he had been recognized, 
for he had ridden out to see the fire with only 
one or two attendants, and, hearing in the 
street that there were only women in the 
house, and one of them unable to leave her 
bed, he had come to tell them they had better 
get away before the fire came closer, for the 
wharves by the river-side were being gradually 
engulfed by the flames. 


300 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

“ It is — surely it is Dame Aylmer/’ said the 
king, in a tone of recognition. 

‘‘Yes, sire — and my son — does he live? or 
— tell me the worst ! ” for only Launcelot’s 
death could account for this visit, she thought. 

‘* Your son is well, for aught I know, mad- 
am ! ” said Charles, a little stiffly ; and then, 
looking across at the two girls standing to- 
gether in the window, recollections of other 
days conquered the returning ill feeling, and he 
exclaimed : “ Odd’s fish, we will let by-gones 
be by-gones. Come, Mistress Audrey, let me 
look at you ; and my little monitor, Bessie, 
what has she to say to Charles now ? ” 

“ O, please your majesty, Bessie has not 
walked or stood on her feet for three years, 
until this minute ! ” said Audrey, with scant 
ceremony. 

“ Risen in honor of her king,” laughed 
Charles. “ But this is no place for an Ayl- 
mer,” he said, looking round the room. 

“ We should like to go back to Aylmer 
Court,” said Audrey, eagerly, who thought 
this chance of pleading with the king was too 
good to be lost. 

“ Hush, hush ! ” said her mother, warningly. 

She was shocked at the girl’s want of court 
manners in addressing the king ; but it evi- 


Conclusioit, 


301 

dently amused Charles, and he was not at all 
displeased. 

Well, well ! you cannot stay here, and you 
may as well go to Aylmer as anywhere else. 
My brother York will grumble a little at first, 
for he holds the manor, I trow, though I 
doubt whether he has ever made any use of it. 
Pack up at once, and I will send for a wagon 
to take you and your goods to Aylmer with- 
out delay. Give me pen and paper to write 
the order necessary to take with you.” And 
Charles seated himself at the table and wrote 
a few words, ordering the steward who had 
charge of the estate to give it up at once to 
Mrs. Aylmer. 

The lady was too much overwhelmed with 
surprise than to do more than murmur a few 
words of gratitude, as she knelt- to receive the 
order that was to restore them to their own 
again ; but anxiety for Launcelot overcame 
every other feeling at last, and she sobbed 
out, “ My son, my son ! have you no tidings, 
sire, of my son ?” for she still feared that the 
king had heard of his death, and meant to 
console her in this way. 

Nay, nay ! Pepys mentioned him to me as 
having done good service for us in the Navy 
Office, which proves that ye are all loyal still ; 


302 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

and I meant to do something for him after 
the war was over. But ye must have another 
house at once; and so, as ye want Aylmer 
Court, ye shall have it. But I have not seen 
or heard of Launcelot to-day,” he added. 

“ Then, I pray God he may be safe still ; 
but he has gone to help at the fire.” 

“ He will speedily return,” said Charles, 
lightly ; “ pack quickly what goods ye want to 
take to Aylmer, dame; for there is little time 
to lose ; ” and the king hurried away, leaving 
word at the last that a wagon would be at the 
door shortly. 

“ Let us kneel and thank God, and then we 
shall understand it better,” said Bessie, when 
her mother returned after conducting the king 
to the street door ; and Bessie fell on her 
knees by the couch where she had so long lain 
helpless, and returned thanks for the wonder- 
ful mercy that had been .showered upon them, 
praying, too, that God would help and provide 
for the helpless ones whom this fire would ren- 
der homeless. Then, as Bessie rose from her 
knees, Audrey suddenly recollected that she 
had no shoes on, and shoes and stockings had 
to be searched for ; and while the oak chest 
w'as being turned out she walked across the 
room to try and assist in the packing ; for Mrs. 


Conclusion, 


303 


Aylmer had speedily decided that they must 
take all they could with them, for fear they 
should find the house empty when they got 
there. 

Mrs. Aylmer would not allow Bessie to do 
much in the way of packing. Audrey would 
have made a little festival of her sister’s put- 
ting on shoes and stockings again, in spite of 
the awful crashing and roaring of the fire, 
that was now rapidly making its way toward 
them, for the efforts, that were made to stay 
its progress were useless ; but Mrs. Aylmer 
said they had no time for rejoicing even over 
Bessie : they must pack a few things and get 
away, for the lower part of the house was full 
of inflammable material, as well as the sur- 
rounding wharves ; and the sparks were now 
falling so thickly that each moment they were 
in imminent danger of being surrounded by 
flames. 

The king kept his word, and a wagon was 
soon at the door, and the men carried out the 
goods without much regard to Mrs. Aylmer’s 
directions, urging her to make haste and seat 
herself in the wagon, or they would not be 
able to get out of the city before the fire was 
upon them. Mrs. Aylmer tried to delay the 
removal, in the hope of seeing Launcelot re- 


304 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

turn ; but the men hurried every thing out so 
fast that she feared they would have to go 
without any tidings of him, when, just as they 
were about to descend the stairs, Bessie lean- 
ing on her mother’s arm, Launcelot rushed in. 

Thank God, you are safe ! ” he panted, too 
much overcome to notice that Bessie was 
standing before him, until she laid her hand 
upon his arm and said : 

‘‘ Indeed, we have much to thank Him for, 
Launce.” 

Bessie ! ” uttered her brother, scarce be- 
lieving the evidence of his own senses. 

^‘Yes; I have lain here, at the Beautiful 
Gate, like the lame man ; but I am healed at 
last.” 

And we are going to Aylmer Court, 
Launce,” interrupted Audrey. “ The king 
has been here and sent a wagon to fetch us.” 

Where are you going, mother ? ” said the 
young man, ignoring what seemed like Au- 
drey’s wild talk. 

‘‘ Now, then, the streets are getting so full 
we shall never get out of London if we don’t 
start at once ! ” called one of the men from 
the foot of the stairs. 

'' We must go. I will carry Bessie,” said 
Launcelet, taking his sister in his arms. 


Conclusion, 


30s 

The men had packed the goods so as to 
form some comfortable seats for the family, 
and here they soon bestowed themselves, and 
the men whipped up their horses without ask- 
ing which way they should go. It was need- 
less at present, for they could but go west- 
ward. London Bridge being the only one 
built at present, there was no possibility of 
crossing the river, and they could but fall in 
line with the stream of vehicles that was bear- 
ing the unfortunate Londoners and their goods 
away from the fire. 

The poorer people had carried all they could 
save to Finsbury Fields and other adjacent 
open spaces ; but the wealthy merchants were 
anxious to get farther away, and it was no 
easy task, in the crowded state of the road, to 
get along at all. As they sat in the wagon, 
Mrs. Aylmer told her son all about the king’s 
visit, and showed him the order he had writ- 
ten, empowering them to take up their resi- 
dence at Aylmer Court. But, instead of being 
delighted, as he once would have been, Laun- 
celot only looked puzzled and distressed. 

‘‘ I can never go to court and take up the 
old life, mother,” he said. ‘‘ At present I can- 
not leave the Navy Office ; I have promised 

Mr. Pepys I will return to him to-night, as 
20 


3o6 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

soon as I have taken you to a place of safety 
he has told me of.” 

But we are going to Aylmer Court,” said 
Audrey, quickly. 

But you cannot get there to-night,” said 
her brother ; it is evening now. You must 
stay at the farm-house Mr. Pepys has recom- 
mended ; and to-morrow it will be as well, per- 
haps, to push on, and take possession at once.” 

Audrey clapped her hands. ‘‘ Only think, 
we shall see our own dear home to-morrow!” 
she exclaimed. 

I cannot come with you unless the fire is 
put out to-night,” said Launcelot. I have 
promised Mr. Pepys that I will not be away 
long, for fear it should be needful to move the 
Navy Office papers ; for I know just where to 
put my hand on every thing, and it would 
cause endless confusion now if these should 
be burnt.” 

I am sorry ; but you will do your duty to 
the king, and I will not hinder you,” said Mrs. 
Aylmer. 

I will try and write some letters to Mr. 
Maitland and Rosalind. She must come back 
to us now, mother,” he said. 

Audrey uttered an exclamation of dissent, 
and Bessie looked as though she would like to 


Conclusion. 


307 


prevent it if she could ; but Mrs. Aylmer said, 
quietly: “Of course, we shall have Rosalind 
with us now.” 

This conversation had to be carried on in 
snatches, as they could make themselves heard 
above the roaring of the fire and the crash of 
failing buildings ; and very little more could 
be said for some time, beyond making the 
driver understand where he was to go. 

The farm-house where they were to stay for 
the night was only a little way beyond Hol- 
born Fields, and here Launcelot left them, and 
returned to London. 

The next morning, when they got up, they 
could see by the lurid pall of smoke that over- 
hung them that the fire was still burning; and 
it was not until they were half-way to Aylmer 
Court that they got beyond the stifling smoke 
and out into the clear sunshine. 

How sweet and peaceful every thing looked 
round their old home, as they drew near it in 
the warm sunshine of that September after- 
noon ! Mrs. Aylmer was greatly overcome 
when her eyes first saw the well-remembered 
scene, and even Audrey’s spirits were some- 
what subdued as they came within sight of 
the quiet, empty house. As the wagon drew 
up at the entrance gates, an old man came 


3o8 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

from a lodge at the side, and demanded what 
they wanted ; but the moment he saw Mrs. 
Aylmer, he recognized her as his old mistress, 
and she knew him at once as a faithful serv- 
ant. 

It is Tomkins, our butler ! ” exclaimed the 
lady, joyfully ; and the next moment the gates 
were thrown wide open, and the old man was 
bidding them welcome with tearful earnestness. 
He had the keys of the house, and had taken 
care to keep it aired, and had not allowed it 
to fall into ruin since the departure of the last 
tenant, and he did not need to see the king's 
order before granting Mrs. Aylmer admit- 
tance. To her great joy, she found it little 
changed from what it had been when she left 
it. Furniture was made to last a generation 
or two in those days, and as none of this had 
been removed, it would be easy to make things 
home-like again. 

Tomkins soon brought two of his daughters 
to light fires and make things comfortable; 
but the old man could do little more than 
walk behind Mrs. Aylmer as she went over 
the house, and ask questions of the past, for it 
was little news he had heard lately of the 
family he had served so long. 

The next day and the next passed with no 


Conclusion. 


309 


news of Launcelot ; but on Thursday after- 
noon he arrived, very tired and exhausted, 
after his exertions in London. The fire was 
out at last, but nearly half the city was in 
ruins, and hundreds were homeless. He had 
written to Rosalind, and so she might be ex- 
pected any day, as she would doubtless leave 
Eyam the first opportunity she had. “ I have 
also written to Mr. Maitland, telling him all 
that has happened; and when the king has 
settled matters with the Duke of York, and 
duly transferred the estate to you, mother, we 
will invite him to come and be our chaplain.’' 

In truth, Launcelot was afraid to take any 
step until this necessary business had been 
done ; for although it was but the barest jus- 
tice that this should be done, he knew the 
grasping disposition of the duke and the care- 
less prodigality of the king so well now, that 
he refused to give up his position in Mr. 
Pepys’s office until their position at Aylmer 
was quite secure. 

“ I don’t believe Launcelot cares whether 
he lives here or at the Blue Boar,” said Au- 
drey, pouting, when she heard that her brother 
would return to London in a day or two. 

O, yes, I love the dear old place,” .said 
Launcelot ; but I learned to know of my 


310 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

other inheritance while I lived at the Blue 
Boar — the dear, shabby old home : it is in 
ashes now ; but I shall never forget it, or the 
lessons I learned there. But for these, I 
should have been a thoughtless gallant of 
King Charles’s court ; but now, if I am spared 
to come to this earthly inheritance, I trust I 
shall use it in my Master’s service.” 

But although Launcelot said this cheerfully, 
Bessie knew that he was not glad to come 
back to their old home — that he was afraid — 
afraid of himself, and afraid of the wealth God 
had given them again ; and as she slipped 
her arm in his, to walk to the garden, she 
whispered : '' Trust in him, Launce : we have 
trusted him in tribulation, and he has helped 
us ; now he says to us, in all times of wealth, 

‘ Trust Me still. ’ ” 

But if it should dim the holy Light for us, 
Bessie?” said Launcelot, with a sigh. 

But it cannot, unless we make it. We are 
weak, but God is mighty — mighty to save even 
in times of wealth. How we shrank from 
poverty before ! But God took away the sting, 
and made it very sweet at last ; and so he can 
make our wealth as rich a blessing to us, for 
we may now become his almoners, feeding 
his poor, teaching the ignorant of his flock, 


Conclusion. 


311 

and holding up the holy Light of our Sav- 
iour’s life and love wherever we go. Think 
how much we can do for the villagers here 
now ! Mother will teach them that to be 
clean is the best way to keep off the plague ; 
and Mr. Maitland will have a school, and if he 
cannot preach in the church, he can in our 
own big stone kitchen. O, Launce, my heart 
is brimming over with joy and gladness ! ” 

There was no need to ask whether Audrey 
was glad. She was in a constant ripple of 
contented gladness, not even grumbling when 
she heard that Rosalind might arrive the very 
next week. 

But, alas ! Rosalind never came to Aylmer 
Court. The next week brought a letter, full 
of sorrow, from Mr. Stanley, saying that his 
niece had died of the plague. The village of 
Eyam was almost depopulated by its ravages. 
He and Mr. Mompesson, the vicar, had done 
all they could for the relief of the sufferers, 
and must have carried the infection to their 
homes ; for Mrs. Mompesson died of it first ; 
and, although Rosalind had been careful not 
to go near any of the sick, she took it, and 
died soon afterward. This was the substance 
of the letter, and it cast a gloom over their 
happiness ; for, little as Rosalind was liked, it 


312 At the Sign of the Blue Boar. 

was sad to think how, by her own impatience, 
she had again and again defeated herself, and 
at last come to an untimely end, just as her 
hopes of gaining ease and luxury might have 
been realized. 

But cheerful news came from Mary Mait- 
land. They were all well and happy ; only 
her father was pining for work, and fretting 
against the restraint imposed upon him by the 
“ Five-mile Act,” which debarred him from all 
active service as a teacher and minister. 

Meanwhile, the necessary law business for 
the transfer of Aylmer Court and the whole 
estate belonging to it to its rightful owners 
was pushed forward as rapidly as possible, by 
the order of the king. How he managed to 
satisfy his rapacious brother nobody knew ; 
but it was significant that Sir William Coventry 
suddenly recollected, when he met Launcelot, 
that he had seen him before ; and it w^as gen- 
erally understood that Mr. Pepys had con- 
trived to push his interests at court ; so that 
it was not long before Mrs. Aylmer was able 
to write and ask Mr. Maitland to become her 
domestic chaplain. This, as she knew, would 
give him the long-desired work which he 
craved ; for, as the representative of a well- 
known Royalist family, he would be above 


Conclusion. 


313 


suspicion, and could do much that a private 
minister could not, although the odious “ Five- 
mile Act ” would still prevent him doing a 
good deal that he might wish. 

Need we add that the Aylmer family be- 
came a blessing to the neighborhood whei'e 
they lived, and far beyond their own particu- 
lar locality ; that the poor and ignorant for 
miles around had good reason to thank God, 
as well as Launcelot, for the lessons he had 
taught them at the sign of the Blue Boar ? 


THE END. 



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